


And Then You Burn

by ShelbyCelina



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Sexual Content, SnowBaz, a bit of everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 102,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5320868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShelbyCelina/pseuds/ShelbyCelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon Snow is trying to carry on after Watford. Trying to adjust to life as a Normal. But, even as a Normal, Simon's life is nothing short of a disaster. </p>
<p>Note:  This work is now complete, but I am currently making minor edits/updates (specifically to the punctuation, so my apologies for the inconsistency across chapters as I make edits!).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)
> 
> Takes place after Carry On.
> 
> My first fanfic. I just really couldn't let these two characters go. I am obsessed.
> 
> UPDATE! May 2016:
> 
> Hello! I technically finished this way back in January 2016, but I've been slowly making edits to it over the last couple of weeks. (As in I've somehow added/re-written 7,000 words to this beast). So I thought I would publish it again for any more recent Simon and Baz lovers!
> 
> I wrote this as a sequel, because I desperately want one. It started as me just wanting more of Simon and Baz groping (if I'm being honest). But somewhere along the way I decided to add a plot. 
> 
> If you're thinking, "this is a lot of words"- I understand! In which case consider starting around chapter 17 or 18. You can pick up the story pretty well from there! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> September 2017: Hello! Are you reading this? I'm always surprised when people find this buried in the SnowBaz tag. However, you found it, and I'm happy you are here! I technically finished this way back in January 2016, but I'm always editing and making changes (as in I've somehow added 10,000 words to this beast). You'll notice a change in writing style, or at least I do, toward the end of this fic. This was my first ever fanfic, so I find the first half a bit rough and cringey. It took me awhile to find my stride and my voice. I've been trying to re-write the earlier chapters, so you might notice some errors as I make these changes. I hope it doesn't throw you off too much and you can still enjoy!
> 
> Thank you for reading :)

**BAZ**

_“Tell me what it was like for you?”_

I sneer, my face contorted in a way I know makes me look unpleasant.  I hate doing this. I hate being here. But father insisted. “You’re going to need to be more specific. A lot has happened.” I keep my voice even, my words sharp.

She pauses, likely trying to determine just how much work I am going to be. Finally, she gives me a small smile. “Why don’t we try the beginning?”

 _Oh_ , I think. It’s going to be like this.

I sigh. _“What_ beginning? Isn't your job to deal in _specifics_? To help me _find_ the specifics of all this —” I gesture dramatically for the hell of it —"bullshit."

“Basil." She says.

There is unspoken meaning in how she says my name.

It is a warning.

An offering.

Understanding.

I remind myself that she is only trying to help. That Snow would be pleased in that quiet way of his if he knew I was here. He doesn’t. This is a trial. A test. I don’t like quitting things, but I’m prepared to quit therapy.

“I don’t want to talk about this." I say.

It is my own warning, offering, understanding.

She nods. “It can be difficult to feel comfortable —"

“It isn’t that.” I interrupt. “Not completely. I just already know what you are going to say, and I don’t agree with it, it doesn’t help. I _know_ it doesn’t help.”

“What am I going to say, Basil?”

“How hard it must have been for me. How brave I am.”

“You don’t agree with either of those things?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “I didn't _do_ anything— I basically stood there and watched while my boyfriend lost his fucking magic. So, no. I don’t agree that I’m brave or that it was hard for _me_.”

My voice has gone too loud in such a quiet space. It's how I feel most of the time now. Too loud in the quietness of Snow. In the way he withdraws, in the way he looks at his hands like he's expecting to feel something else; and I _know_ what it is he is expecting to feel.

She flinches a little uncomfortably in her chair. I sit back, trying to look less aggressive. It's a talent of mine; looking aggressive, threatening, _intimidating as fuck_ according to Snow. She tilts her head, and I can hear her heart beating faster than normal, can see the hesitant way she adjusts her legs. 

“How about you just tell me about Simon then?” She asks, quietly, as though she isn't sure this is the right approach.

Her hesitation doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in her ability to fix whatever the fuck needs fixing inside me.

“ _Ha."_ I cross my arms and exhale loudly. "No, _thanks_.”

She gives me a sad smile. “I'm serious, Basil. Most people find it helpful to talk about someone else who was close to them when a tragedy happens. Someone who may understand what they feel, someone they can project their feelings through. So, tell me about Simon."

I don't try to hide my frustration. I've had this conversation with father, with Fiona, with just about everyone. “But that’s just it, isn’t it? I will never _understand_ how _he_ feels. How am I supposed to reasonably say _‘yeah, that was hard’_ when I still have my magic? Simon lost the most important thing in our world.”

“It’s not the —”

“It _is_ ,” I snap. “Mages have killed themselves after running dry. You know that, right? I know you know that.”

She hesitates again, her expression indicating I've said several things that need to be unpacked.  She settles with, “But Simon didn’t.”

" _Obviously_ not." I shake my head at her. "Seriously, how hard is it to get your job?”

“ _Basil_.”

My mother would have hated her too.

“ _Fine_ ,” I snort. “Where shall I start?”

“How about when you first met.” She tries to smile encouragingly, but it comes out more as a grimace. I can tell I am starting to test her patience. I resist the urge to tell her that perhaps the issue is her ability to do her job and not my inability to cooperate. I hardly doubt I am the _most_ difficult person she has ever had sit on her couch.

“Okay, but remember that whatever I say, it's because _you_ asked.”

She fake smiles more.

I smirk back.

Asking me to talk about Snow is like opening the floodgates to hell. I glance at the clock; _forty-five minutes_. Good luck getting the gates closed again.

I take a deep breath. “The first time we met, I _felt_ him before I saw him.”

She nods, because this is normal. This is how it is for everyone. You always feel a mage before you see them. Magic can do that; it can pull you, whisper to you, make you feel alive, even if you aren’t. Even a modestly powerful magician can make you feel intoxicated.

"But, Simon's magic was..."

And this is where it gets tricky. Because Snow's magic was an oil spill in the ocean set aflame; the sun bursting, followed by the ocean drowning, your entire world shrinking to a single, consuming thing; him. I clear my throat, realizing I can't bloody well say all that to her.

"His magic was more.”

“Addicting?” She offers.

I narrow my eyes. I don’t know how much she knows about Snow, too much, probably. I never cared for the mages who would trail after him like a dog with a scent. His magic _was_ addicting, but I still don’t like to hear someone else saying so.

“Something like that.”

“And how do you think Simon felt around you?”

“Me specifically? Or you as in the generic you?”

She laughs softly. “You, Basil, specifically.”

I blink a few times. This is a new question. "I wouldn't know. I always assumed he hated me, never thought to ask for clarification." I answer honestly.

“Okay, and the generic you? How do you think Simon felt around other mages?”

I still don't know if Snow ever noticed how all of us would gravitate to him, even me (especially me). The Chosen One — bronze hair, strong and sturdy stature, easy smile — destined for a part, _designed_ to fill it so well, so effortlessly.

Only it wasn't effortless for him.

Snow adored magic like no one else, he _deserved_ it like no one else. 

I clench my fingers into the fabric of my pants, dropping my gaze. "He was more than just his magic, you know?"

"Was he?" She asks.

It's not a vicious comment, it's a curious one. Still, I bristle.

"There _is_ a lot more to Simon than most people bother with. People used him for his magic, and then they tossed the rest of him aside like he was worthless. There is a lot to be found in trash deemed worthless.”

She raises an eyebrow at me and I almost feel a fondness for her.

Almost.

"Yeah, yeah, bad metaphor. He's not trash, he's... some other poetic bullshit that sounds better than trash. You get my point though."

"I do."

She waits for me to steer the conversation, to decide where to go next. I lean forward, and she simply folds her hands in her lap. I make a calculated guess on how much I can share. There is a risk, albeit small, that she might be pro-Mage, but this isn't something I can share with Snow.

(That's a lie.)

(This isn't something I have the guts to share with Snow.)

I feel my skin start to crawl, my throat thick. "The Mage saw him like that." I say, lips dry as I stare her down. 

"Like what?"

I exhale.

"Parts and pieces to be used. Worthless without magic."

“Ah, but Simon is more than his magic.”

I give a small grin, exhaling heavily, thrilled with the hotness pulsing through my veins. It's been too long since I've been able to speak so freely of the Mage.

"I bet you before he died he couldn’t tell you a _single_ fucking thing about Simon beyond how much power he was harbouring; he probably had it measured out in magical units.”

“But Simon saw him as a mentor, did he not?”

“Snow is an idiot.”

She tilts her head.

“I mean that fondly. He’s too trusting. He doesn’t have parents. The Mage swooped in and promised Snow magic, family, friends… that’s like heroin for a kid in an orphanage. It’s not Snow’s fault.”

“And I’m guessing you don’t think Simon should have seen the Mage as a mentor?”

“Would you want your children to worship a power hungry murderer?” I snap.

She blushes.

“He gave Snow a bloody sword when he was eleven. Let that sink in. _He gave a child a sword_. A child with unpredictable magic. Snow couldn’t focus it at first, he almost blew up the school twice in first year. It was a problem, all the teachers would whisper about it, about how Snow was more liability than magic. The Mage’s solution was to give him a sword so he could still march him into all of his battles. So he could still _use_ him.”

“Have you ever discussed this with Simon?”

I laugh. “Did you miss the part where I said he worshipped him? The Mage is persona non grata in our relationship. He was a bully, a murderer, a tyrant. Snow knows this. But he was also Snow’s only father figure. Can you imagine learning the person you saw as your father killed your boyfriend’s mother, killed your goat hoarder, tried to kill your boyfriend, tried to kill your ex-girlfriend, tried to kill _you_.”

“Basil,” she interjects softly. I can feel my cheeks flushing. I shouldn’t have fed before coming. “I want to discuss the Mage, and I think you do too. However, maybe, if you’re okay with it, we can come back to him. I think for now, for a first session while we get comfortable and used to each other, we should focus on you more.”

“I don’t want to talk about me.”

“Okay. Simon, then. We can circle back to Simon. Maybe we can focus on the good stuff for now? Ease into this. How does that sound?”

I sigh and pull at my hair as hard as I can.

This isn't where the good stuff starts, not really.

“I hated Simon." I say, words clipped, heart guilty.

"You thought you hated him?" She clarifies.

"No," I correct. "I really fucking hated him at first.”

I can tell she wasn’t expecting this, but she keeps her expression neutral.

“You can ask me why.” I say.

She laughs softly again. “Okay, why did you hate Simon?”

“Because he was the Chosen One, and I thought it was unfair.” Which is the understatement of the century. “I wasn’t exactly pleasant to Snow our first few years as roommates.”

“Why did you think it was unfair that he was the Chosen One?”

I trace a pattern onto my thigh; count the beats of my pulse for thirty seconds. “He was rubbish with magic. He had it, an abundance of it, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it. He couldn’t cast spells. He couldn’t even speak properly. He didn’t know anything about the World of Mages. He didn’t even know his parents, his magical pedigree.”

I swallow.

“There is a thing I used to think I’m not entirely proud of.” I whisper.

“We all have thoughts we aren’t proud of. It’s important to recognize these thoughts. It is a good thing that you _can_ recognize them.”

“I thought it was a waste, him being the Chosen One. I thought he was a waste.”

“Our first impressions can often be clouded in judgement and biases from outside influences. We can learn to recognize our internal biases though, we can catch ourselves, call ourselves out on why we might think this way.”

“I don’t think that anymore.” I clarify, my voice lowering. “He’s not a waste. Even then… I knew better, even if I couldn’t admit it.” 

Because eleven-year-old Snow was persistent, a quiet curiosity in him that I secretly admired. He was brave, he was funny, he was annoyingly kind to his friends. He was someone who tried too hard and was frustrated too easily. He laughed too loudly and too often— and usually with his mouth full. He ate like a starved dog. He hid Aero bars in our room that he would eat when he was studying, or after a nightmare.

Snow has always had nightmares, something I don’t think most people know. At eleven I didn’t understand what the Chosen One could possibly have nightmares about either. Now I think it should be obvious to most people what an eleven-year-old orphan under the guidance of the Mage might have to fear.

I stop for a minute, allow myself to catch my breath, to unclench my hand. 

"Do you think maybe you were angry? Not necessarily that you hated Simon?” She asks.

I shake my head. “Maybe. He was the Mage's heir, the person I grew up being told to hate, but he wasn't _just_ that. The same way I'm not _just_ the Pitch heir. He was real. A real person, with real feelings and real thoughts. I wasn’t prepared for that. No one prepared me for that.”

“Which was unfair.” She says.

I see the connection she is trying to make.

“Maybe I _was_ angry. Everything about him and his situation pissed me off."

"Did that make being his roommate difficult?”

I try to laugh, but it gets stuck in my throat. "Being Snow’s roommate was hell."

"How so?”

This time I really do laugh.  “Because generally being forced to share a space with the person you’ve been told to hate while coming to terms with your sexuality and realizing the way you stare at your roommate is _not_ because you hate him isn't an agreeable experience.”

She taps her pen against her cheek. “This happened in your first year?”

“In a way. Our entire first year as roommates I thought Snow might kill me. Not the other way around. I was sure he would set the room on fire, and that would be it. He really couldn’t control his magic. I didn’t have much time to unpack what I was actually feeling because I was so focused on the relief I felt each morning when I woke up and the room wasn’t in flames. But then it was summer, and I went home for break."

"And then you went home?" She repeats.

"It was an awakening summer."

"In what way?"

"I realized I'm gay."

She nods.

"And that I missed Snow.”

She nods again.

“And that he was unreasonably cute.”

She gives me a small smile.

“And that I would have to spend the next six years with him.”

I crack my knuckles.

“I was a bit obsessed in second year.” I say dismissively. “Snow still has no idea.”

I was aggressively and embarrassingly fanatical about Snow that year, I could have written a bloody book about him. I could have written poetry about the way a room would feel different when he was in it, the warmth I would feel in my stomach, the way I found myself searching for his scent. The secret worry I would feel when I couldn’t smell him, when I noticed he hadn’t been in our room for days.

I look at the oil painting on the wall behind her head.

"I used my family as an excuse for it." I say.

"For being obsessed?" She asks.

I nod. "And for hating him.”

“Even though you thought he was cute.” She says lightly.

“Especially because I thought he was cute. It was one more reason to hate him. It was brilliant, really. I told myself I was simply keeping my enemy close, learning all I could so I could make my family proud and destroy the Mage’s heir. And learning all I could just happened to involve objective staring and objectively noticing that Snow is cute.”

"So perhaps you hated the idea of Simon more than you actually hated Simon?”

"I hated how he could make me feel, which in hindsight I realize wasn’t his fault or a good reason to hate him. Neither was hating him because he was unapologetic for being himself, whereas I spent almost every day apologizing for being me. Every day for me was meticulously planned; I don’t have the luxury to be careless with my _condition_.”

“Which is unfair.”

Ah, that theme is back.

‘Yes.” I agree. “But, the biggest injustice of all was that Simon Snow was alive, and I couldn’t go a single bloody day without being reminded.”

"That sounds exhausting."

I laugh. "Crowley, it was. Because as I was busy hating him, he somehow wormed his way into my brain…I couldn’t stop thinking about him. It only got worse as we got older.”

“Were you friends as you got older?”

I snort. “Not even close. It was too dangerous; to be friends with him when I was so conflicted on how I was feeling. Not to mention, my family still hated him, still thought I should be plotting against him.”

“Why would it have been dangerous? Excluding the issue of your family’s feelings.”

I know she knows I’m a vampire, but I still hesitate. “I was worried I would kill him.” She doesn’t react, which I’m very thankful for. “It was confusing and exhausting trying to keep up with my own thoughts. And then he started following me, trying to prove my… _condition_." I clear my throat. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss him or kill him.”

“That would have been a lot to handle all at once. A lot of confusion and uncertainty.”

“Neither of which I enjoy.”

“So were you confused about what you felt about Simon or just how he made you feel?”

“Both. Well, for a time. And then it was just me hopelessly in love with my roommate while also battling the urge to kill him for coming too close, for always smelling like blood and magic and _boy_.” I don’t quite like how she is looking at me so I add. “This was me at fifteen, when my raging hormones were literally raging hormones — it was different for me. More difficult, more intense. Snow didn’t make it any easier. But, it’s not like that anymore… and I never lost control, not in _that_ way.”

She smiles. “I know, Basil. You don’t need to worry about that with me.”

I feel a pressure lift from my chest.

"Okay, so that was fifteen. Then things changed?"

I start to shrug, then stop myself. It's one of Snow's habits I seem to have picked up. "Yeah, by our last year we had stopped trying to kill each other. Although I would argue I had stopped _seriously_ trying years before he did."

"That's it?"

"That's it." This is the part I _really_ don't want to talk about. I can feel my throat closing, so I try to make a joke. "It was all very poetic and epic. The stuff of teen romance movies.”

"What happened to Simon last year?” She asks gently.  
  
"You should ask him." I deflect.

"I'm asking you."

I sigh, the words stale in my mouth. "He lost _everything.”_

"How do you mean?”

I glare at her. "That's a very stupid question. He lost his magic— you know this — therefore he lost _everything.”_

"I'm just trying to understand, Basil. Can you describe what it was like?”

I look away from her. "It was like a light went out of him when he lost it.”

"And now?”

"He's still warm."

"Sorry?"

"I was surprised. I thought his skin might feel different. Turns out constantly overheating is all Simon, magic or not. I almost flinched the first time he touched me after. It was like his magic was still there for me, like nothing had changed, not really. But of course it _has_ , because he can’t feel it anymore. He's numb— he experiences the nothingness, the absolute mundane that we all feared with the Humdrum every single day.”

And it is fucking tragic.

I don’t know how he does it. Because the buzz at your fingers as you call for your magic, familiar and comforting, as sure as your ability to blink, that is everything in our world. _Everything_. It is how you find out where you belong.

"And how do you feel about him losing his magic?”

"I don't have a right to feel anything," I tell her. Because I don't. This is Simon's loss, not mine.

"You always have a right to feel something.”

"Not about this.” 

"Okay, let’s rephrase. How do you feel about Simon now?”

I give her a strange look; she can't possibly be suggesting I would feel any different for him. "I'm still hopelessly in love with him.” I say through clenched teeth.

Which I suppose isn’t entirely true, because hopelessly implies a level of despair, and Snow is my _boyfriend_ now. So it can’t all be hopeless.

“You know he gave up his entire identity, didn't even flinch at the possibility of dying in the process. And he gave it up for people like me, like _you_. No one else would do that. So, yeah. Of course I still bloody love him. Magic or not. He’s still _Simon_.”

I stop talking, counting my pulse again. My voice feels raw, and I feel like I have just exposed something vulnerable.

The pity she is trying to hide on her face makes me angrier than it should. It makes me feel how Simon must every time I look at him. Her voice catches in her throat. “Basil, I think Simon is _very_ lucky to have you. You obviously provide a lot of strength for him.”

I stand up quickly, looking down, trying to brush off the imaginary lint from my pants. “I have somewhere I need to be."

I leave the room without saying another word, without looking back.

What a waste of fucking money.


	2. Where we are now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is not the only one obsessed with Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)

**BAZ**

It has been ten months since everything happened at Watford. Ten months of being Simon Snow’s boyfriend, which hasn't been exactly like I always thought it would be. But, granted, I never made him suffer through a massive fucking trauma in all of my fantasies of us together— even the ones where I killed him, it was never this cruel. Sometimes I still can't believe it, that I am actually dating Simon Snow. That I get to come home to him and we get to do terribly mundane things like watch a movie together.

I used to think being with Simon would be a whirlwind of erotic romance, it would be groping in the forest after battles against dark creatures, it would be almost dying.  It would be hot, heavy, and _fleeting_. Because then one of us would actually die. I guess you could say our relationship is still _heavy,_ but it's not the kind of heavy where I get to see Simon without his pants on (which, Crowley, makes me sound like a tosser. I'm fine waiting. Honestly). It's the type of heavy where sometimes it feels like Simon is slipping away from all of us, retreating quietly to his thoughts. It's less terrifying now than it was at first, when I was constantly worried it would be the last time I got to see him. I wasn't always sure he would come back. Now I know that I can usually pull him back. It’s like slowly unraveling a ball of yarn.

I don't blame him though. I would be a shut in if I lost my magic. But, I think I love him more than I ever thought possible. More than when I was dreaming of rough kisses and broken skin. This is real, and us, and more than I ever thought I would get. And I've come to realize I would do anything for him. I don't meant that flippantly either, I mean it literally. He could ask anything of me and I would, without hesitation, without strings.

I am currently waiting for him to finish his History of Magic class at the University of London. I still remember when he told me he signed up for the class. It was after he had taken it upon himself to cut off his own tail, and after he picked up a series of stupid habits as his way of... coping, I guess? I don’t really know what the hell he was thinking on either occasion because he isn’t as open as he used to be (again, our heavy relationship). Sometimes neither of us feels much like talking at all, so we press our bodies into each other and just breathe together, like we are reminding the other how. It sounds corny, but it works. We both feel at ease in those moments.

I laughed in his face when he told me about the class, because I really am terrible sometimes. Then I nearly cried when I saw how utterly broken laughing made him feel. Like I was somehow laughing at him (I wasn't). I still don't understand what he wants from the class, he was once _alive_ with magic, he knows it is real, yet the class is taught like magic is the stuff of crazy people and fairy tales. In any case, it makes him happy.

So here I am, trying to be a good boyfriend, sitting outside his class with two extra hot pumpkin mocha breves waiting to see the top of his head emerge from the doors. It’s domestic and terribly boring. Fiona thinks our entire relationship is a laugh. I wouldn’t have it any other way though.

Because I’m still hopelessly in love with him.

 **SIMON**  
  
It takes me fifteen minutes to realize I've stopped listening. Which, is actually rather good for me, considering sometimes an entire three hours seems to slips between my fingers, lost to the blinking of my eyes. I shake my head, pop my shoulder, and try to pay attention. I try to imagine myself as a sponge, _I'm absorbing information_. Penny taught me that trick, although part of me wonders if she was just taking the piss with me when she said it. It doesn't seem to do much good.

I focus my efforts on writing neatly instead, but nothing ever feels neat anymore. I just seem to absorb the space around me. (At least the sponge metaphor works somewhere). I've had to switch to pens because I broke so many pencils trying to take my notes. I wouldn't be surprised if most my peers think I am mental. I twitch and jerk constantly, a heinous reminder of the magic I used to have. I used to feel electric. I could feel every pulse of power that would course through me.

I used to feel so _alive_ all the bloody time.

Now, my muscles ache and contract waiting to feel the flow of magic that no longer burns beneath my skin. It's exhausting. A tiredness that seems to have seeped into the marrow of my bones.

Essentially, ten months after Watford and I am a mess— a catastrophic, train-wreck-of-a-mess. Like, I watch daytime talk shows and think _these people have their lives together_ level of mess. Hence my insistence on taking this stupid class I can't be bothered to pay attention in. This is my brilliant idea. (I should note I have never claimed to have great ideas. Great ideas belong to Penny). A single course at the University of London on the History of Magic. I sit through three hours of lecture a week, trying to listen, trying to take every single word in, no matter how inconsequential, with the hopes that my professor might bring up _what to do when you lose your magic_.

It is, quite possibly, the most pathetic of come back stories.  
  
I look up and see the professor has already ended the class.

I look down at my notes.

 _Fuck_.

Not only have I smudged blue ink everywhere (did I touch my face? I did. I definitely rubbed my temples), I stopped writing after 'in 1509 there was a case of'... a case of what?! Instead my hand appears to have drawn a series of ticks and squiggles across the page. _Great Simon_ , I think to myself. _You can learn to get your magic back by doodling._ I really wish I had tried harder to convince Penny to take the class with me.

I sigh and begin to pack away my bag, noticing people staring as they walk by. I was probably mumbling in class again. Another habit I seem to have developed since losing my magic is muttering spells over and over to myself. I find it comforting; chanting the phrases and rhymes that used to terrify me, like if I can learn to control my words now, I will be prepared if I ever get my magic back. (Not that I would admit to anyone that I’m hopeful it _will_ come back. Penny and Baz would likely just share a look: _Poor, daft, Simon. He thinks it’s possible_. It’s just that I feel like it _is_ possible. But, I’ve stopped wishing for it, and that according to my therapist is a good thing. Being optimistic and wishful are very different.)

I am not even aware I am doing it most of the time (the mumbling). At least I don’t have my wings and tail anymore, people would definitely be staring if I still had those. At the memory the scars on my back and tailbone begin to burn. It wasn’t easy, in fact it was a complete disaster, but after months of refusing to leave the flat for fear of someone seeing my less than ideal condition I just decided to cut the fuckers off. Another _brilliant_ Simon Snow idea.

At the time it made perfect sense. I was miserable. Penny was beyond exhausted from trying to cast removal and cloaking spells, and Baz was frustrated I wouldn’t just accept them. I just wanted them gone, to have at the very least the option to go outside on my own if I wanted to. I didn’t want to rely on Penny or Baz spelling them invisible for the rest of my life. And truthfully, I didn't want the reminder, because every time they got in the way it made me feel useless, and it brought me back to the night I killed The Mage. Removing them seemed like a win for everyone.

I waited until Penny was in class and Baz was off hunting, and then I took a knife to my tail and just _swooshed,_ like the way I used to wield my sword, slicing through what felt like leather and soft bones. I heard a thud as my tail dropped to the floor. I smiled for the first time in months. _See_ , _who needs magic,_ I remember thinking. I could be completely self-sufficient on my own. I was triumphant, euphoric, and I may have even danced around in my new lightened state, so proud that I had accomplished what even Penny and Baz couldn’t. Looking back, it was likely the massive loss of blood that caused my euphoria.

When I finally noticed the blood it was already everywhere. I could feel something sticky and warm against my back, something dripping down my pants. There were pools of dark liquid scattered across the kitchen. _That can't all be mine?_ Was my first stupid thought. I passed out before I could have another.

When I woke up I was tucked in a hospital bed, with a very painful ass and back, and a very pissed off Penny and Baz sitting across from me. But I just started to laugh, because at least I didn’t have a tail and wings anymore. I felt so light, so free. I just couldn’t stop laughing. Baz and Penny found it infinitely less amusing than I did.

"You could have bloody killed yourself!” (Baz yelling).

"We could have helped you!” (Penny sobbing).

Penny later informed me through a series of screams and sobs that she came home and found me laying in a pool of blood with my severed tail beside me. She called Baz, who immediately called his Aunt Fiona. Together they gathered Dr. Wellbelove and a few other magical doctors, all of them part of Fiona’s endless connections, and they set to work on finishing the job I started.

As it turns out, using magic and surgery was the answer, a combination of the normal and the magical was all it took to safely remove my extra parts. So— here I am, covered in scars, but at least I can leave the house. I am going to chalk this one up as a win.

I come back to the present and continue to put away my books. People keep staring as they walk by, giving me the strangest looks. I feel the heat begin to creep up my neck, embarrassed at my own carelessness, people always stare when I get lost in my thoughts.  It isn't like it used to be. People aren't drawn to me for my power anymore; they are just drawn to me because I am an amusing mess, who may or may not also be completely insane.

Baz always reassures me in moments like this that I am not, in fact, insane. He describes it as an ‘understandable ephemeral insanity' _._ I had to look up the word ephemeral, not that I would admit that to him, or admit that it does help to think of my current mental state as being temporary. The first time he caught me muttering spells I broke down into tears when I realized what I had been doing.

"I just feel so fucking mental all the time.” I had sobbed against his chest.

"You deserve to be a little crazy, Snow. It doesn’t mean it's permanent.”

To be honest, I really wouldn’t be concerned about the muttering if Baz didn’t always look so worried. I think there are worse things I could be doing, in fact I have tried worse things. But, he does always look worried. He tries to remain unreadable, but I can see it, that momentary flicker across his face where he is searching for me to come back to him. I wish I could just tell him: _I'm here. Please wait for me. I promise to be better._ I'm not sure it would come out right if I tried though.

As I stand and swing my shoulder bag across my body I feel the weight of my bag swing into someone. I whip around, my hand at my belt calling the sword that no longer comes. _Fuck_. I stare breathlessly at a classmate with a shock of yellow hair. Not blonde, but truly yellow. It looks so strange against his translucent skin. I am almost tempted to ask him if it is natural. But then I realize he is staring at me, mildly amused. This is the part where I should apologize. I mumble out my apology before shuffling as fast as I can towards the door.

I can feel everyone watching. I try to make myself as small as possible as I walk across the room. I can feel my throat closing, frustrated tears bubbling to the surface, the temperature of my skin rising. I will myself not to look as embarrassed as I feel. _Get_ _over it Snow,_ I whisper to myself, hearing Baz's voice in my head instead of my own. His clear, clipped words— never tumbling out, always so carefully chosen, so very different from my own stammering and sputtering. It is his voice I hear when I need to calm down, when I need to just _carry on_. I slowly exhale and make my way out of the classroom doors, and there he is, as if I had conjured him just with my thoughts alone.

He is holding two red cups and his hair has fallen into his face. Every girl who walks by slows down slightly just to enjoy the view. He is brooding and handsome — and a million other things I will never be. Just the sight of him causes my pulse to quicken. His dark grey coat is unbuttoned and his dark jeans are tight against his skin. The front of his button up shirt is falling against his body in clean, beautiful lines. I make a mental note to start dressing better. I must look ridiculous standing next to him in my faded t-shirts and worn converse shoes.

He slowly looks toward me. It feels like I can breathe again, my embarrassment from class simmering back into my skin as I focus on my beautiful boyfriend. I smile at him—my biggest, stupidest smile— before I skip the last few steps between us and crash into his face. I can only really call it crashing. He barely even registers me before my lips are pressed against his. I grab his neck and pull him close, feeling (and loving) the way his body relaxes into me. Within seconds my hands are in his hair, pulling gently, trying to take more from him. It feels like I'm consuming him, drawing out his own life and magic. (I don't mean that in a I _want my boyfriend dead_ way either.) Suddenly, I am alive again, fire spreading through my limbs, skin glowing with warmth. I feel like _me_ — Simon Snow— the greatest mage who has ever fucking lived.

I'm sure there is some irony, or cosmic justice... or _something_ _literary_ about it taking someone who is dead to truly make me feel alive. I don't know if it says something more about him or me. It doesn't matter though, because to me he's just Baz. The fact that he is — a boy, and a vampire, and a mage, and possibly dead? — it's all trivial. At the end of the list of labels he's still just Baz. And I still just love him.

 **BAZ**  
  
I am _trying_ not to people watch. Apparently, I make Normals feel uncomfortable when I stare. They begin to cluster, to back away, like they somehow know I could kill them without even really trying. I find it amusing. Also, if I'm being honest, watching the parade of girls —  all eerily similar to Agatha — come out of Simon's classroom has given me a serious confidence boost. I catch a group of them staring, gravitating towards me, and giggling to each other about how handsome I am. I grin to myself. I really shouldn’t, but sometimes it is just too easy. I look up, fixing my gaze on them, giving them a long, cool look, before I give them my best sneer— lips curled and teeth gleaming. They scatter. I grin to myself again.

I immediately look to the classroom doors when a strong note of something sweet hits my nose. Simon, the devil, keeps managing to sneak up on me (well, more than he used to be able to). He crashes into me full force, filling the space between us so completely until I forget I am the taller one. I close my eyes. My entire world becomes gold. It becomes Simon. I hear nothing, I feel nothing, I see nothing but him.

When I open my eyes he is grinning at me. We are both breathless, and his cheeks are flushed a deep pink. I wonder, not for the first time, how I ever stayed away from him for so long. I suppress my own stupid grin when he looks up at me with his utterly goofy face —  the one that I adore so much. 

Simon slowly backs out of my arms, straightening out his jacket and adjusting the strap of his bag. He's still grinning when I hand him his drink. "Thanks.” He mumbles, letting his fingers linger on mine as he takes his cup. 

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You know,” I start. "I should probably come by your class more often if I get a welcome like this.”

Simon blushes, before taking my hand. "I can give you welcomes like that whenever you want.” His voice drops to a whisper, barely audible, like he is unsure if he should say the words out loud. Simon treats his words of affection carefully. It is so unlike the Simon I have always known, confident (even when he was stammering or stuck on a word), brazen, and unapologetically crude at times. But I welcome these moments, when Simon is cautious with the words he is giving me, it makes me feel a softness towards him I never would have predicted.

We begin walking down the long hallway of classes towards the elevators. I am lost in the glow of Simon, the heat from his fingers pushing through me, causing my thoughts to drift. We are walking slowly, and the hallway seems to go on forever. Both of us are completely silent, ignoring the people streaming past us. I could walk like this for hours and never tire. I look over at Simon, sipping his drink, his brow slightly furrowed in thought. I can only hope he feels the same way.

I don’t feel the burn of someone’s gaze at our backs until we have almost walked the entire hallway. I glance backward to a head of bright yellow hair. I try to get a better look, I can feel his eyes burning into us, and I wonder if he is uncomfortable with our affection. It wouldn't be the first time. But then I feel the cold, the life being drained from the air around me, the bitterness filling the spots where Simon’s energy was minutes ago. I shiver, even though Simon’s hand is still warm and intertwined with mine.

Carefully, trying not to draw attention I whisper to Simon: "Is he in your class?" Simon abruptly stops walking and turns to look back. I groan. _So much for subtle._

"Oh, yeah, I think I hit him with my bag.” Simon's voice is too loud in the quiet hall as he lets out a huff of air. " _Merlin_. How long has been staring at us?"

"I'm not sure,” I say, with as much nonchalance as I can muster.

The figure is standing still, just staring, until finally he curls his lips in what looks like disgust. Or so I think, until he winks.

Simon tightens his hand in mine. " _What_ is his problem?" He growls. It's a protective sound, territorial, the same growl he always threw to me about Agatha when he thought I was trying to flirt with her. Simon’s eyes turn mischievous as he continues to stare back— boldly and directly— at our lurker. This is the Simon I know, never willing to back down from a challenge. I would be slightly more thrilled at the return of some of my boyfriend's old tendencies if I wasn't certain Simon was about to do something to get himself killed.

Something just doesn’t feel right. I begin to pull on Simon’s hand, wanting to get off of the floor as quickly as possible. I watch Simon stand his ground and grin. I pull on his hand harder. " _Snow_. Come on,” I hiss. But it is too late.

" _Oi!"_ Simon shouts down the hall _._

His voice is met with a wide grin by the yellow-haired... _something_. I think I know what he is, but I can't possibly be right. The grin fills his face, his lips curling around his teeth oddly. The whole thing comes across as disturbed. Simon doesn't appear to notice.

"If you could _please_ stop staring at my boyfriend, that would be fucking great!”

There is no response. Just a slightly opened mouth, and what looks like a deeper inhale at Simon's manic laughing. Simon collapses against my side, and I pull us toward the elevators. Yellow-hair winks at me again. He locks his eyes onto Simon, the slightest glint on his teeth as he gives me a knowing look. I push the down button on the elevator over and over again, never taking my eyes from the pale figure moving down the hall. I swear the elevator takes a million years to arrive on our floor. I'm seconds away from using magic, which would hardly go unnoticed by the Coven, when the elevator _finally_ dings.

I shove Simon inside ahead of me. He gives me a disgruntled look, which I try to quell by ruffling his hair. It doesn't work. He looks at me like I've lost my bloody mind. I roll my eyes instead and keep myself between him and the doors until I feel the elevator start to move.

"Stop it." Simon whispers to me.

"What?' I snap.

"Standing like that, it's freaking me out."

I pretend I have no idea what he is talking about as I lean against the elevator wall. He leans beside me, his left hand pulling on the hem of my jacket. I roll my eyes again, because sometimes it feels like I have to. But, I quickly drop my right hand to meet his. 

Yellow-hair wanted something, badly, and every instinct I have is telling me he wanted — no, _wants_ — the blood of the boy with golden skin and bronze curls. The boy holding onto my hand like it might be the last thing he ever does, which is just how Simon holds hands, but, _still_.  People don't look at other people like that. I tighten my grip as we make our way out into the crowded streets and toward Simon's flat.


	3. Devour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)
> 
> Also, sorry all of my chapters are so long!

**PENNY**

I take another bite of ramen as I flip to the next page in my textbook. I frown as I try to adjust myself so I can both read about the density functional theory _and_ eat my noodles. I like to multi-task. I've also become a bit obsessed with chemistry since starting university. It's like magic... of sorts. I’ve even been to a few Normal magic shows that incorporate chemistry. Call it curiosity. Baz says I am despicable.

_“You’re giving this fraud money? No wonder people so blindly believe magicians aren’t real. Look at this video, you can clearly see where the wire is.”_

I don’t know why I love it so much. I tried to explain it once, how it just seems incredible to me that Normals found a way to do some of the tricks even we don't have spells for. _That_ got me a lovely response: _“Magic isn’t a fucking trick, Bunce.”_ Which, normally I would agree with, just not when it is Baz making the point _._ I don’t know how Simon hasn’t punched him in the face yet. He’s got a bloody opinion on everything. (So do I, but that's hardly the point.)

Anyway, I also love chemistry because it’s fascinating watching bonds form between things unknown to each other. I love how something entirely unexpected can occur just because of one small change in a formula. Even the basic of element combinations. Like, how impressive is it to think that water is just hydrogen and oxygen. It reminds me of Simon and Baz, which I most certainly did _not_ try to explain to either of them. I was so sure they were sworn enemies, destined to hate each other, but then when they finally melted and merged it made perfect sense. They are unexplainably compatible.

I still wonder how I didn’t notice sooner. Looking back, it really was rather obvious.

Like the time in seventh year when Simon, Agatha and myself stole some of Trixie’s fairy juice. We ran, laughing and breathless, across the great lawn to Simon’s room, who assured us Baz was gone for the weekend. Within minutes of consuming the small bottle (it tasted like spun sugar and berries) we were acting like complete lunatics. We were undone, prancing around the room like fawns in the forest, bursting into fits of laughter on the floor. It was like nothing I had ever felt before, I was euphoric, I was Queen, and so was Agatha, and Simon, Simon was _King_.

He was on Baz’s bed, socked feet, grey trousers, shirtless. He had taken it off after three sips of the concoction; he was always running too hot. He was jumping over and over again, crumpling the crisp sheets all around him. His face was flushed, his eyes bright, and I swear to Merlin his curls were alight with fire. Agatha and I were transfixed.

Simon was shouting at me to play music, so I spelled a local radio station to come through the walls, it ended up being a late 80’s and early 90’s hit station. ‘Baby Got Back’ by Sir Mix-a-Lot was pulsing against the room causing us to move around in a series of frenzied twirls and laughs. It was deafening. We all were rapping along— _poorly_ — none of us knew all the words. It didn’t matter though. Nothing mattered in that moment. We might as well have been at The Royal Albert Hall.

We didn’t notice Baz until his distinct voice rang through our cloudy brains. “What the bloody hell are you _freaks_ doing?" Agatha and I froze, but Simon never stopped bouncing. He kept jumping, moving in slow spins across Baz’s tiny bed.

“What does it look like?” Simon shouted. “We are _dancing!”_

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like he wasn’t worried at all that his roommate had cursed him in the past for borrowing a pen without asking. There was Simon, completely violating Baz’s bed, breaking about a million rules, and his voice was light, affectionate, almost cradled in a purr.

“Seriously, Snow.” Baz had snapped back at him. “Not only is that the most pathetic excuse for dancing I have ever seen, but you’re acting like a complete and total —“

“Fairy?” Simon finished for him, laughing manically. Baz paused, clearly confused.

It was Agatha who interjected, swaying her hips as she danced across the room to Baz. “We had some fairy juice, and it tasted like _heaven_ _._ You should join us Basil _.”_ She was giggling, trying to draw Baz in to her trance, flicking her hair and licking her lips (I really should have read more into this too). Baz looked murderous, although he didn't even glance in Agatha's direction. He didn't let his eyes move from Simon. “I would rather not be party to your orgy.” He hissed. 

I waited for him to turn us in, to call someone to witness our drunken state, but he never did. He stood in the doorway and watched Simon with the same murderous look on his face. At the time, my fogged brain chalked it up to hate. Only now I think it must have been immensely painful for him to watch Simon jumping across his bed like that, shirtless and carefree. I don’t know how long we all carried on like that, it had felt like time was slowing down. Maybe it had been? I still haven’t researched enough about fairy juice.

Eventually, Simon jumped from Baz’s bed, landing only a few steps from him. It was enough to snap Baz out of his stupor. “Snow.” He barked over the music. “Our room is not your own personal fucking _Chosen One_ crack den. Shut this down.”

‘She Drives Me Crazy’ by the Fine Young Cannibals had started playing. Simon ignored Baz, rolling his eyes as he started to loudly sing: “I can’t get any rest. People say I’m obsessed. Everything you _say_ is lies. But to me that’s no surprise." Simon even tried to reach for Baz’s hand, to pull him closer, but Baz swatted him gently away.

“Out, Snow. _Now_.”

Simon shook his head and fixed his eyes onto Baz. He beautifully (he actually does have a great voice) sang out: _“He_ drives me crazy like no one else. _He_ drives me crazy and I just can’t help myself."

I would put money down that I saw Baz blush in that moment, even soften for a split second. Naturally, everything went to shit moments later when Simon tried to twirl, still in his stupid sock feet. I watched as Baz somehow registered what was going to happen, and I swear he took a step forward with his arm slightly outstretched, like he wanted to steady Simon. But then Simon crashed, smashing his temple on the frame of the bed, and Baz, in less time than blinking took, somehow had distanced himself completely from Simon. It was like he had never tried to reach for him at all.

Simon literally cracked his head open. He was bleeding profusely from his temple. Like _that_ the magic was gone, the fairy juice dispelled from our systems. Agatha started to cry, and I was trying to mop at the blood with the edge of my sleeve. As with most things involving Simon, it was a disaster.

“Serves you right, you _fucking_ moron.” Baz had snapped at Simon, already halfway out the door. His face was twisted in disgust. “Bunce, I except this room to be spotless when I return, or I'm getting you all expelled. And I’m telling _you_ , because we both know Snow will make the entire fucking room disappear if he tries any cleaning spells.” (Simon was also half-way to being unconscious at this point, but regardless, Baz had a point.)

Later on, much later, when my brain finally started to clear, I thought about how strange it was that Baz stood in the doorway so long. That Simon had tried to engage with Baz at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about the expression on Baz's face as he watched Simon, like he was desperate to consume every detail, every moment for his memory.

When I tried to bring it up with Simon I got his typical shrug. “Penny, I really don’t remember much from that night. I likely said ‘he’ because _he_ does drive me crazy. He's a complete prat. I'm sure he is just waiting to use this against me. It isn’t beneath him to hold a grudge.” I didn’t believe him for a second. I could see the flush creep up his neck when he tried to brush off singing to Baz. He remembered. But I let it drop. No wonder it took them so bloody long to figure everything out.

Still, Simon and Baz together is about the only thing that makes sense to me anymore. Maybe it would make less sense if I had discovered their newly shifted dynamic in another circumstance. As it turns out, casting the spell that caused Simon to kill the Mage and watching Ebb bleed to death was what my therapist labelled ‘a very traumatic event’. As such, when I heard Baz cry out for Simon and when Simon finally collapsed—tired and raw— into Baz’s arms it just wasn’t a surprise. It was the most natural thing in the world.

I hear keys in the door and low voices. Technically this cozy little two bedroom flat belongs to Simon and myself, but Baz is pretty much here every night. (Actually, now that I think about it he _is_ here every night. I really should start asking him for rent.)

When Simon walks through the door his entire face is beaming. “Penny!” He shouts cheerfully.

I narrow my eyes in suspicion. I am always suspicious when Simon is happy now (which I realize is terrible, but for weeks after everything he barely even spoke). Baz notices me sizing up Simon, no doubt thinking I am blaming him, which I am. I wouldn’t put it past Baz to spell Simon happy. I would be a liar if I said I hadn’t thought about it, especially when he woke up every night in July crying and screaming, begging for someone to help him. Baz stopped going back to his Aunt’s flat after that. However, the difference is I would never spell someone to feel something, and Baz likely would. Especially Simon, and especially if he thought it was helping.

“I didn’t spell him, in case you were thinking that," Baz sneers at me.

 _Can he read my mind?_ I forget if this is something vampires can actually do, or something pop culture likes to pretend they can. I make a mental note to start doing more research on vampires, because Baz is bloody useless when it comes to knowledge of his own species.

I roll my eyes at him. “I _wasn’t_ thinking that.” Baz lifts an eyebrow as Simon flops down beside me, melting into our worn brown leather love seat. He grins at Baz. “No spells, Pen. I'm just absolutely _smitten_ in knowing that my boyfriend is quite possibly the most attractive person alive.” He winks at Baz, clearly playing out some inside joke between them. Baz shakes his head, the slightest of smiles across his lips.

“Oh for snakes sakes, Si. When did you turn into such a fucking marshmallow?” I hit at his arm playfully. Really, I wonder how Baz does it. How he can look so unfazed every time Simon says something sickeningly adorable. (Simon was never like this with Agatha. He used to be a terrible boyfriend, which didn't really bother me, because I don’t love Simon for his ability to be a boyfriend. But, with Baz, he’s a fucking character from the Notebook. I'm not sure which is worse.)

Baz rolls his eyes, still hovering by the door. “Snow, there are so many things wrong with that sentence. Starting with the fact that I'm neither alive nor a person, technically speaking.” Simon narrows his eyes slightly. I know he hates it when Baz refers to himself as something other than alive.

“ _Technically_ speaking, I was talking to Penelope.” Simon huffs. He turns to face me on the couch and ignores Baz muttering. “Pen, you should have seen it. This creepy guy was staring at Baz, clearly thinking about jumping his bones, so I told him off.” He looks over my shoulder to Baz. “I’m in a good mood _because_ I was thinking about how bloody lucky I am.” Baz groans, and I feign disgust as I throw a cushion at Simon. I don’t let on that I’m actually jealous at how obviously and deeply he loves Baz. I swear their love is something entirely different from what the rest of us go through life claiming to experience.

When I glance over to Baz he has his eyes locked onto Simon. His expression is unreadable, but it doesn’t match the face of someone whose boyfriend just declared how lucky he feels because of him. I can see how tense Baz is, still standing, like he is waiting for someone else to burst through the door. Out of habit I straighten a little against the couch, suddenly alert. It is a habit I haven’t been able to kick from our days at Watford. When we were always in the middle of a battle and everything could be a clue. I always needed to be alert back then.

I swear a full minute goes by before Baz finally decides he should respond. Simon has already moved on, making a grab for my noodles. Baz laughs, shaking his head. “Okay, Snow. You’re right. You’re completely lucky to have someone as pleasant as me for a boyfriend.”

Simon snorts. “I wouldn’t go as far as to call you pleasant.”

I laugh, and Baz narrows his eyes. “I’m perfectly pleasant.”

Simon laughs, and then chokes on my noodles. “According to who? The goblins? Because they’ll say anyone half attractive is pleasant.”

“I thought I was the _most_ attractive person you knew.”

Simon grins. “Ha! I got you to say you’re a person.” He slurps a noodle, and Baz glares, visibly annoyed. “Actually," Simon laughs again, "that creepy guy would probably call you pleasant too."

Baz’s face hardens. “Come off it, Snow. We both know he was just offended by my lack of heterosexuality.”

Simon looks up; his face flushed and mouth full. Before he can speak Baz cuts him off, holding up his hand. “Refrain from whatever you’re about to say until _after_ you swallow the monstrosity of Bunce's noodles you have managed to shovel into your face. Crowley, Snow, I can’t take you bloody anywhere, not even to your own flat.”

Simon swallows heavily. He looks a little embarrassed. I'm a little embarrassed for him. “Did you see what I did? I highly doubt he cared much about your ‘lack of heterosexuality’ since he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.”

“Devour?” I wrinkle my nose at the image.

“Interesting word choice, Snow”. Baz counters.

It seems odd Baz is trying so hard to convince Simon this guy wasn't interested in him. I always assumed he was a bit of a narcissist.

Simon sighs. “Well, how else should I bloody describe it? I mean who looks at someone like that?”

Baz snorts. “Seriously? I probably do.”

Simon shakes his head. “You know what I mean, it was different! It was like he wanted something from you, something— _impure.”_

Baz rolls his eyes. “Do you hear yourself?”

Simon shrugs _. “_ All I'm saying is, the guy gave me the creeps, and I thought Penny would appreciate the story. You know, the part where I declare you’re my boyfriend to a hallway filled with people, all gallantly and good boyfriend like.”

Baz pauses for a moment, a thought hanging from his lips. It is almost like he can’t quite figure how to say whatever he is thinking (a rare occurrence). “Please, Snow. The hall was basically empty.” It comes out like a lecture, like a warning for a small child who has been caught talking about giants. Simon’s face falls. I forgot what a complete bloody arsehole Baz can be sometimes.

“ _Baz_ ,” I warn, an edge to my voice as I shift closer to Simon.

He looks at me, annoyed that I am even here. Annoyed that I decided to interject.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snaps.

But his face is filled with worry, and I wonder what else is going on.

**BAZ**

He noticed. He _fucking_ noticed. Simon never notices anything. I never said I loved him for being observant, he is a complete idiot most of the time. He fumbles and bumbles his way through life, tripping over nothing and twitching where his magic has left him. People noticing Simon, yes. Simon noticing people, no.

I mean I knew he saw him, but I didn’t think he noticed his hunger, noticed that how he was lurking wasn't normal.

Only he got it wrong.

He wasn’t looking at me— he was looking directly at Simon. I can feel my muscles tighten. I am going over and over his face in my head. His smirk, his cold eyes, his bright yellow hair. I may not really know what it means to be a vampire, but I know one when I see one, and I sure as hell know when someone is looking at my boyfriend like a prize to be won, like a meal to hunt.

**SIMON**

In another universe Penny and Baz were definitely made for each other. I feel like such an idiot around them most of the time. They are brilliant, always one step ahead of me. I can feel the energy in the room shift, I can see them look at each other, and once again I realize I have missed something utterly important.

I can’t fucking stand when Baz speaks to me like a child, like I am useless and my poor Normal brain must have been seeing things wrong. _I get it, Baz_. You’re the fucking vampire magician with super senses. I am just the ‘Normal’. A disappointment and a bore. Someone for your Aunt to have a good laugh over.

I audibly sigh, feeling the high from earlier leaving my body, replaced by the familiar boil of my anger. I can feel my weight again, and I am more aware of how I don’t fit in the room.

**PENNY**

Baz is still standing, fuming, working through something in his head. “You’re making me uncomfortable, can you sit down please," I grumble at him. He turns his head to look at me, as if he has just remembered I am here at all. “Sorry,” he bites through clenched teeth as he sits down on the floor by the window.

I try to go back to reading but I can’t focus. All I can think about is what the hell is going on. My Watford days are clearly far from over. I am turning over a million questions in my brain. Baz clearly has an issue with whomever this guy Simon yelled at is, and I can tell Simon is now pissed that Baz dismissed everything he just said.

Finally, Simon stands and sighs. “I think I'm going to go for a run, shouldn’t be more than an hour.” He says to the empty space in front of him. He doesn't look at either of us as he walks towards his room, his shoulders slumped, the cheeriness from his voice long gone.

I glance at Baz, but he's staring out the window, like he's oblivious to Simon's sulking, which I _know_ he isn't.

I roll my eyes to his back. _Merlin and Morgana,_ I’m going to murder him one day.

**BAZ**

Simon walks back through the living room, ready to go for his run. His hair has been adorably contained under a soft grey toque, and I resist the urge to walk over to him and kiss him like he kissed me earlier. I resist the urge to make him tell me how smitten he is with me again, because I rather liked that. I can't seem to make my voice work at all. Which is unfortunate, because I have so much I need to warn him about.


	4. A vampire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)

**PENNY**

I smile to myself thinking about how perfectly natural Simon looks in running clothes. He looks happier already just at the prospect of his run. He only started a few months ago, but it was like he finally found something that didn’t make him feel lost. I don’t think Simon will really ever understand what it is like to be a Normal. He has suffered too much in the world of magic for that. But, without his magic I know he doesn’t feel connected to our world anymore. I can’t say I blame him. He was wandering between the two worlds for months, not really sure of where he belonged, of who he was supposed to be, but when he found running it was like something clicked for the first time since Watford.

He is brilliant at running.

When he gets back from his run he will be closer to the new Simon he is building, not the Simon of Watford, but certainly not the Simon I found in a bathtub filled with water. None of us are the same after what happened, how could we be? But Simon lost the most that day, more than any of us could really understand. I momentarily felt the effect of the Humdrum on my magic in seventh year. That was enough to make me almost lose my mind, and here is Simon, completely drained of what used to define him and still _carrying on_.

He is a bloody hero in my opinion, no matter what he says.

**SIMON**

I start running the second my feet hit the pavement. I need to clear my head of what happened in the flat. I welcome the heat that begins to build in my muscles, feeling the satisfaction of a familiar burn. This is why I love to run, because I can pretend for an hour that the burn I feel is the same one I used to feel when the power of the world was in my hands. I mean, it is not quite the same, obviously. I never got a cramp from my magic, but this I can control, and I could never control my magic.

The first time I went for a run it was a complete disaster, as was most of my life at that point. It was six months after everything, and most days I could barely get out of bed. I thought things would improve once I removed my wings and tail, but I was just so fucking tired of feeling nothing, of everyone feeling sorry for me. So, I took it upon myself to try and find the same feeling my magic used to give me. I made it into an experiment, something to give me purpose again.

I started with drinking, consuming alcohol until I could feel nothing but a warm glow wash my entire body. I lasted a week. It was a sorry alternative that left me retching for days and feeling even worse than when I had started. Next, I tried wearing every single piece of clothing I owned. When I had magic I was nothing but heat. I would burn even in the dead of winter. However, the extra clothes just made me sweaty and itchy, and I felt like my skin was trying to crawl away from me. It wasn’t even close to my magic. I needed something to burn, something smoky... which led me to cigarettes. I smoked pack after pack until I felt nothing but rawness in my throat, until I could taste nothing but acrid chemicals. It wasn’t enough. Nothing was. Not to mention, Baz loved the smoking. He thought it meant he had a free pass to light up whenever he wanted (the bloody idiot). I also momentarily tried to grow a beard, because honestly, who doesn’t grow a beard when all else has gone to shit. That phase lasted exactly 48 hours before Baz told me he wasn’t going to be kissing my face when it looked like a soggy carpet. (He had a point.)

Finally, after a day spent alone on the balcony, smoking cigarettes I hated the taste of I thought maybe a burning bath would work. I was so sure it would, that the burning water would flow over my body and leave the impression of my magic, and it would finally be enough. I _really_ did think it would work.

Penny found me in the bathtub after I had let the water turn cold.

I still hate myself for causing her so much pain. I could hear her sobs and screams long before she finally managed to spell the bathroom door open. I heard the loud muffled thud of the door and knew this was going to break her heart, and yet I just stayed where I was, I didn’t try to come up for air. She yanked me up, and I spluttered out the water that had begun to fill my lungs. I really wasn’t trying to kill myself. I only wanted to feel something close to my magic. It's just... the burn of the water as I began to struggle for air was unexpectedly satisfying. So, I stayed where I was... for far longer than I had told myself I would.

Penny says she cast a spell on me to clear my lungs, I don’t really remember. I remember crying. She looked at me with her dark eyes, and I knew she thought she had lost me. I had almost destroyed her, and I will never forgive myself for doing that. I made her promise not to tell Baz. I still haven’t told him, which I know makes me selfish... and a fucking prat.

I didn’t want to be _me_ anymore. I couldn’t return to the Simon I was, but I fucking hated the Simon I was becoming. I wanted Baz to have more than just a pathetic hindrance for a boyfriend. I wanted Penny to have more than a selfish coward for a best friend. About a week after the incident I went for a walk, trying to get inspired, but really just dragging my feet feeling sorry for myself once more. I was walking through the park when I felt a rush of wind go by me, I looked over to see a woman running past me, clearly lost in her own little world. I was watching her, envious of how simple her life must be, when I realized how graceful she looked, her legs and arms slicing through the space around her with ease, timing her exhales with the push of her muscles, flying past everyone around her. I realized she looked like fucking magic. I was hooked. I found the magic I was so desperately seeking in the breathing of a runner.

I remember my first day trying to run. I was so determined to just instantly be great, that I almost quit when I couldn’t get it right. I am aware of how ridiculous that sounds, but running is more than just moving, it is breathing and control, both of which I am notoriously terrible at. I stumbled through my first two kilometers. It was awkward and uncomfortable. My heart felt like it was going to explode, my muscles were screaming at me to stop, my body was rejecting everything I was trying to do. It was the furthest thing possible from the magic I had seen in the park.

But I kept trying, until one day something finally clicked. I felt a release in my brain and my muscles began to cooperate with what I was asking them to do. The next thing I knew I had ran ten kilometers without actually thinking about it. I learned to control my breathing, to make it part of my body and my movement, not something separate. I burn with life and control when I run, which is bloody brilliant for me, because it's almost like I can feel my magic again.

I continue running, exhaling into the late October air. Each inhale and exhale feels like a new beginning. Clean, cool, and crisp.

It feels like Baz’s voice against my skin.

 _Baz_.

All thoughts always lead back to him. I kick myself for not just speaking my mind earlier. For not telling Baz off for treating me like a child, for not just asking _why_ he was being so weird. I am cursing him in my head for being such an asshole, but my anger isn’t fresh anymore, I can feel it slipping. Instead, I am picturing his whispers on my skin in the middle of the night, his kisses on my freckles and moles, searching for my hand beneath the sheets.

 _The bastard_.

If I didn’t know any better I would swear he spelled me to be this madly in love with him.

**BAZ**

I listen for the stairwell door to bang shut before I turn to Penny. She is already looking at me expectantly. I am back to standing, pacing by the window. I always forget how sharp she is, I can tell she already knows I need to talk about Simon.

“Just tell me,” she starts. “Is it about the guy Simon was telling off—who is he?”

I nod my head, trying to work through what I know for sure and what I can only speculate on. Most people are not willing to accept explanations that begin with _my vampire senses were tingling_. Penny lets out a frustrated sigh. She’s annoyed at my pacing.

I decide I should start with what I do know (which isn't much beyond a what he is and what he wants). “Well, I don’t know _who_ he is, but I know _what_ he is.” I pause, allowing my words to sink in.

Penny’s eyes go wide. "You don’t mean, someone like… well, someone like you?” She is quiet and serious. I can tell she isn’t comfortable asking me if he is a _vampire_. I scrunch my face at her, more annoyed than I should be that she isn’t willing to call me a vampire. How can she possibly be okay with her best friend dating me if she can’t even say the word? (Although, to be fair I don’t ever directly refer to myself as a vampire either.)

“Someone like me?" I sneer. I am being a dick, I know I am, but I can’t help it. Vampirism really is a sore subject. Penny doesn't respond, she looks down and absently runs her fingers along the spine of her textbook. Her silence only adds to my anger. So, I try a different approach. One that is all too familiar with me. “Bunce, are you trying to ask if he was handsome like me? Because I don’t think your American boyfriend would appreciate the curiosity."

She adverts her gaze again, realizing she has offended me. I wait for her answer.

“Well?” I snap.

She still doesn't look at me, but she takes a deep breath. “Baz, what I meant was…is he a vampire, you know…like you?" She rushes through the word ‘vampire’, but at least she says it.

“Yes,” I exhale, "he was _exactly_ like me."

Penny doesn’t ask me how I know. I guess she believes me, trusting my instincts and my word. I really should try harder to be nice. Her face is working through a series of questions and answers. This is a problem, and I have yet to find a problem that Bunce can’t solve. It feels like an hour has gone by before she nods her head to herself and begins to speak. “Right. Okay, so what's the big deal? You’re one _too_ , and you go to university, and even if this guy is creepy, you're a little creepy too.”

I raise an eyebrow at her.

She gives me a half smirk back. “Come on Baz—you _are_ . Simon would be the first to tell you.”

I shake my head at her. “Bunce, he has ridiculous yellow hair. That alone is enough to make him creepy. At least I look _—_ "

"Like a posh arse?" Penny grins and I try not to laugh. I don't want to encourage her.

"Better than creepy," I counter.  _I'm not creepy._ (I must remember to ask Snow his feelings on my creepiness. Perhaps I will make a scale, ten being yellow haired vampire creepy and one being not creepy (aka me). He better tell me I am a one on the creepy scale).

Penny retreats to the deep pools of her thoughts again, likely trying to convince herself that a vampire is _nothing_ to be worried about, that we live in a post-Watford world that can be both magical _and_ safe. That she and Simon have moved past the days of dark creatures hunting them. Dark creatures like me. _No_. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the memories of a million terrible things I did to Simon. A million terrible things Penny watched. I can’t let myself think like this, not now.

“Penny,” I say seriously. The half-laughter from my voice gone. She looks across the room at me, worried. I need to tell her this. “What Simon saw wasn’t accurate. The guy, the vampire, he wasn’t staring at me. He was staring at Simon. Staring at him like _—_ ” _How do I describe his hunger?_ “Like he was starving. And he already had a menu. And it was nothing but Simon.”

Penny freezes, holding her gaze with mine, her eyes filled with disgust. Right, well I guess that really was a creepy description. (Fine, maybe I am a two on the creepy scale). She doesn’t really need to know more, I could stop now and she would still understand that this vampire is going after Simon. Simon would have stopped by now, already comforting Bunce, absorbing some of her anxiety and worry so she wouldn’t have to carry it alone. But I am not Simon. She draws a breath, bracing herself for the rest of my description. She knows I am not Simon either.

“More than that,” I continue, "he was looking at Simon like he wanted everyone to watch him looking. He was literally hunting him, and when he saw me, he knew. He knew what I was, that I was the same as him." An edge creeps into my voice, one I can't control no matter how hard I try. "He _fucking_ smirked at me. Like I was somehow in on his sick joke, like I would understand what he was feeling.”

Penny shutters, curling into herself. I can't help but feel it is her subconsciously backing away from me _—_ the bloody (no pun intended) monster across from her. After all, I'm a _creature_ made from the same stuff. She must be imagining me thinking the same things about Simon, about killing him... about enjoying the kill, relishing in the thrill of the hunt and the demise of Simon Snow.

I don’t blame her. I would be thinking the same thing if our roles were reversed. I want to tell her I am not the same though. I don't want to be a monster. I have _never_ fed on a human, and while I used to think about killing Simon, I would never have actually gone though with it, because it would have meant the destruction of a very important part of myself. (Not that I would admit this to even Snow, but it feels like he holds part of my soul, like if I had killed him I would have killed the only part of me that is human). 

I should be honest with Bunce. I should let her know that that she doesn’t need to worry, because even when I am kissing across Simon’s neck, able to smell his blood, I still never think about killing him. I may be indulging in some of my sickest fantasies; feeling the sensual warmth of his blood fill my mouth, satisfying my hunger in a way it never has been, getting off knowing I am literally filled with him, but he is always fine, perfectly healthy, enjoying himself thoroughly. Although, if I told Penny all of this I would also need to clarify that I _wouldn't_ actually act on anything because one —  it _could_ fucking kill him, and two —  it's incredibly disturbing that I even have these thoughts. I doubt even Snow, who I've always imagined to have some sort of kink (he's too bloody _good_ to not have something), likely wouldn't put up with me asking if I could perhaps, just once, have a little taste of his blood while we fucked (not that we are fucking).

I imagine trying to explain this to Penny. “I don’t want to kill Simon. I love him, I would do anything for him... _and_ sometimes I want to taste his blood. But that's it! _Just_ taste!" I feel sick to my stomach, thinking of how pathetic it would sound, how stupid she would feel, like the little pig that let the wolf into their home. I can imagine the look of horror on her face as she tried not to vomit, spelling me out of the flat and away from Simon forever. I've thought about doing this myself before, casting a spell that would prevent me from being in Simon's life. I think he might be better for it, but then he gives me one of his soft looks, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth and he says something terribly fucking sweet, and Crowley, I convince myself that he might actually need me around.

“Penny,” I say _—_ this time more gently. “I know what it looks like when a vampire hunts. He was hunting, and he won’t stop until he gets what he wants.” I exhale loudly and pull my hands through my hair. I don’t need to say it, we both know it, but part of me wants to share this burden. To have someone else know what I do. Someone who can help me protect Simon. “He wants Simon. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t know why he has decided to kill Simon, but he has."

Penny flinches at the word ‘kill’. She is visibly upset now, pressed into the couch, running her hands through her ponytail in a worrying pattern. I should reassure her that Simon is safe with me. I also think, at this point in our semi-friendship, that I shouldn’t have to. She _should_ know. Then I think of Simon, and how he would probably want me to actually say it to her, and although Bunce can pick up on implied meaning quicker than Snow, it feels like a disservice to him to _not_ say it aloud.  “Penny, I just want you to know, Simon...he's..." I can’t find the right words. I truly think I will stop breathing the day Simon dies. That I will just kneel over with him, not a scratch on me and just _stop_. I can no longer picture a life in which Simon is not beside me. There is no going back. I want to tell Penny that I will protect him at all costs, that I will gladly cross every line that has ever been drawn just to keep him safe. I would kill for him without a second thought, and she would too. But I can’t tell her any of that. I can’t express myself because it makes me weak. Part of me feels like I am going to break open if I keep talking.

Her voice is quiet. “Baz, I know. You don’t have to say more." I stare at her, relief filling my face, silently thanking her. She gets up off the couch and takes a step towards me. There is too much hope in her face now. She is looking to me for answers.

“What do we do?" She whispers, her dark eyes are filled with tears. “Just tell me what to do."

I look away. I don’t know how to comfort people. I don’t know how to do anything but disappoint them.

A weak: “I don’t know,” is all I can muster.

**PENNY**

I am angry, scared, upset and a million things at once. I am about to boil over with tears. I am about to scream at Baz, to throw my fists at him while shouting: _BUT WE JUST GOT HIM BACK. WE JUST FUCKING GOT HIM BACK. WHAT DO WE DO?_ But before I can do any of that, before I can allow myself to break down I hear the familiar pattern of Simon’s feet walking towards our flat.

I whisper, **"Oh happy days."** The calm that washes over my body is a welcome change. I feel the tears in my eyes sink back down for another day.

I head to the kitchen to busy myself at the kettle.

 


	5. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)

**SIMON**

I walk back into the flat feeling light. Penny is making a pot of tea. Baz looks uncomfortable, perched by the window with a book in hand. They both call out an overly cheery greeting as I walk across the room.

“How was your run?” Penny asks over the splutters of the kettle trying to warm up. She doesn’t even look at me. I narrow my eyes. Penny _never_ makes tea without magic, especially not since our conversation about using magic in front of me as a Normal. The first few weeks after everything she _did_ stop, as did Baz. It was like they thought I wouldn't notice. It nearly drove me mental. I had to shout at them (which took a lot of fucking effort at the time because I wasn't really talking) before they finally started casting around me again. I missed feeling their magic more than my own. Even Baz's, which feels like a fucking grease burn (it can't be pleasant for him to cast spells, I've never thought about that until now... I should ask him).

I glance over at Baz, who is still pretending _very_ hard to be reading. _Magic Through the Ages_ is written in block letters down the spine of the book. I frown. It's the same book he swore had nothing in it but rubbish.

 _Suspicious_.

I stand perfectly still and try to take everything in. There is clearly tension in the room. I can sense that I have interrupted something, but I don’t know what. What the hell were they doing? My mind instantly goes to plotting, but then I have to remind myself that Baz _doesn't_ plot anymore. Not against me anyway. Or, I don't think. (Merlin, could he still be plotting?)

I narrow my eyes again. I decide to suss out the situation. “You know I don’t actually have a birthday, right?" I say casually, trying my hardest to sound smooth. Penny and Baz finally look at me, completely confused. You would think I had just announced I have mermaid blood running through me.

Baz stares at me for a beat before smirking. “Then what did we celebrate in June? Because I distinctly remember there being cake. Bunce, interpret please?" Baz looks to Penny, which annoys me... because I'm right fucking here. Just ask _me_ what I meant.

Penny shrugs, pouring hot water into her mug. “Sorry Baz, I don’t get this one either." Her voice is thick, disconcertingly calm, like it was dunked in magic.

I sigh. (I mean, I really don’t think I am that hard to follow). “I'm saying, I _don’t_ have a proper birthday. They guessed. So if you're acting so bloody weird because you were planning a surprise or something, just don’t, because I don’t even know when my birthday is- _technically_."

Baz starts laughing, his uncontrollably high-pitched laugh. I never would have guessed he was capable of making a sound like a horse and a goat going at it.

“ _What?"_ I snap.

“Crowley Snow, _technically_ that's exactly what _would_ make it a surprise. If this is about getting another cake, just say so. I can run to Tesco right now."

 _Bastard_.

It's not about getting another cake. I just wanted to see what they were talking about when I was gone, because clearly they were talking about something.

I catch Penny trying not to laugh out of the corner of my eye.

_Damn them both._

I can’t think of anything clever to say, which usually means I grunt out something incoherent. "Piss it," I say. Which, isn't quite what I was going for. I sound like a petulant child. I half expect Baz to banter back something mildly disturbing, but both he and Penny are laughing too hard now.

I can still hear their laughter when I slam the door to the bathroom.

**BAZ**

_I really am an arsehole._

I finally get my laughter under control while Simon is in the shower. I wait for him by the window in his room. I _should_ apologize. It's something I'm working on, but this isn't an area I've ever excelled at. Apologies, half of the time, are wasted on someone who doesn't actually care. And the other half of the time they are insincere. So I guess I just don't see the point. I think it might be because I spend almost every waking hour apologizing for _what_ I am, which is something I can't control. It makes it difficult for me to apologize for the things I can control. (Especially to Simon, which I think is an old habit more than anything. I just don't want to seem weak.)

I open the window just as the streetlights begin to burn against the late afternoon sky. The world is slipping into dusk. I love this time of day- everything always looks more beautiful washed in a coat of soft golds. It reminds me of Simon.

I turn as Simon enters the bedroom. He has a towel wrapped around his waist. I thank Merlin, Gandalf, _anyone_ that I get to view the muscular lines of his back as he gently closes the door behind him. The scars where his wings and tail used to be seem extra pink tonight. Simon’s body is a collection of scars, a collection of stories and near death experiences. I could probably tell you about every single one of them, mapped into my brain from hours of my hands roaming his body. He uses a second towel to shake out his hair, frowning at the effort. I can’t help myself. I picture running my hands through his bronze curls, grabbing them by the handful, letting his towel fall away from his slim hips. (Snow's broadness is all in his thighs and shoulders, another thing I'm very thankful to someone for. Crowley, whoever designed him should win a fucking medal.)

I close my eyes, exhaling softly. I'm lost in my thoughts of him long before I feel him move toward me, which is exactly what I was hoping he would do. I keep my eyes closed and grin. I swear he can read my mind sometimes. It must be obvious how at his mercy I am. I'm basically putty in his hands.

“Baz,” he whispers. He is close enough for me to feel his breath, to isolate the sweeter notes to his scent, the ones that always make me feel dizzy. I feel the heat coming from his skin, still pink and flushed from his shower. (It is remiss of me to _not_ mention how terrible it is for him to take showers at such an alarming temperature... but, I like him like this; burning, pink, so close to me I can feel his heart thudding.) (Which isn't related to the shower, but still feels like something I would miss out on if I told him to use colder water. It's like the heat makes him softer, pliable.). I reach out to touch his chest, to initiate some form of contact between us. He intercepts, interlacing his fingers in mine. It isn't quite what I had in mind, but it will do. It's still good. It's always good. _  
_

“Baz," he whispers again. I slowly peek one eye open, not wanting to lose the moment I have created in my head. _Crowley, Snow._ He is looking at me with his blue, blue eyes, sadness and hurt twisting across his features.

“Snow—" I feel him flinch. _Simon. Simon. Simon —_“ _Simon_." I exhale softly onto his neck, hoping to distract him, to apologize for earlier without saying a word. He pulls away just enough to get his point across. I sigh. No such luck. I lean back, giving him my full attention and resisting my urge to arch an eyebrow at him that says _: well? get on with it._

To my surprise he doesn't yell at me, or tell me off, or call me a bloody prat. He apologizes.“I just want to say, I'm sorry. I got upset over nothing earlier, and I want you to know that I'm here. Even when it seems like I'm not."

_Where is this going?_

He is grinning obnoxiously at me, his hair spilling across his face clumsily. It gives him the appearance of chaos. Chaos I would gladly spend a few hours mucking around in.

I shake my head. _Pay attention._

"Are you listening?" He asks. I nod, hoping the flush I feel isn't actually visible. He nods back, like he believes me (he should know I can't bloody well pay attention when he's standing in front of me all warm, and pink, and in nothing but a flimsy towel.) “I just want you to know that I'm here. I'm yours, yeah? _Always."_

My heart feels tight against my chest, my voice caught in my throat. I don't do anything but stare at him. This is what I mean about him saying terribly fucking sweet things. What the fuck am I supposed to do when he says something like this?

Putty. Just. Fucking. Putty.

I would like to tell him that I love him. Fiercely. Unconditionally. Completely. I would like to tell him everything, every terrible secret, every terrible thought, every indulgence that is mine, until I'm certain he hates me, only to have him say he has never loved me more. Instead _,_ I let the silence fill us and stare into his eyes, hoping that this is enough, that it will be enough for him. His gaze burns. _Please_ , I think. He offers me a shy smile, and I fucking love him, because he has just given me an out. A chance to respond without using words. He _never_ makes me admit that I'm the weaker one.

He gently places his forehead against mine. We stay locked forehead to forehead, fingers still gripping tightly to each other. I want him to _know_ how deeply I love him, even if I can’t say the words. All at once I become aware of how much _unnecessary_ space there is between us, of how much I hate it. I pull him closer to me. It is strange having him feel taller, looking down on me, his head bowed instead of reaching. I can still feel the heat of his skin, the slight dampness to his hair, the dull thudding of his gloriously alive heart. I become aware of everything.

And I can’t help it. It's like I'm burning from the inside out, an indescribable heat licking up my insides. I want to push him roughly to the bed. I want to kiss him until I feel raw. _I want. I want. I want._ I lift my head and find his mouth. His response is addicting, the slight shift of his hips, the softness of his lips, the gentle whispering of his breath across my mouth. Snow can light fires in my fingers, ignite them in my stomach, have them twist through my legs, and he can do it without a bloody spell, without magic. He hasn’t even really started yet. I know there is a build to Simon’s kisses. But I am already gone. I would give him everything right now if he asked. Every last piece of me, he can have it all. He smiles against my lips. _He bloody knows it too._

He murmurs my name as he moves from my lips to my jawbone, kissing deliberately, letting me _feel_ the heat of each kiss he plants. He gets to my ear before I have the decency to at least _try_ and make him feel this good. I run my hand through his hair, letting his curls slip slowly between my fingers. I embrace him tightly, trying to cover every inch of myself with him. He lifts his head from the space between my neck and my ear, a grin plastered to his face. I place my hands on his chest. Suddenly, this isn't enough. I need to stand. I need more. I need to be closer, to feel taller, to feel _every_ inch of him pressed against me. He takes a step back, unsure of where I am going.

I grab him by the neck. "This way," I whisper. 

He bites down on his bottom lip, gently sucking in, chewing.

I growl. "Snow."

" _Pitch_ ," he purrs. The cheeky bastard.

He crashes into me. Or maybe I crash into him? But we are crashing and tumbling onto the bed. His entire body ends up pressed against me, that pesky towel still keeping me from what I really want. I stare at him for half a second, and then his mouth is on mine in a hurried rush. I greet him eagerly. _I am so hungry, so fucking hungry._ I grab his hair as he runs his hands up my back. I get greedy when I feel his whole length pressed against me...I can't help but push back against him.

He pauses, his head tipping back, his long neck exposed as he makes a sound deep in the back of his throat.The sound hums through me. I swallow thickly. Crowley, it's _divine_. 

He looks up at me, his blue eyes wide. He's worried. 

 _Stupid_ , I think. So bloody stupid.

I want to hear that sound again, and again, and again. 

I try my damn hardest to make the noise loop through me on repeat.

I get so lost in Simon that I almost don’t realize I'm on the edge of going _too_ far. I can't lose control, and I'm getting there. When my hands find their way to his thighs his heartbeat spikes, I can feel his blood rush through him, the scent suddenly at the forefront of my mind. It's not a good thing to be thinking about. We need to slow down, _immediately_.

Simon, being the absolute nightmare he insists on being, impatiently presses against me again. It jolts something awake inside me, my fangs pressing tightly against my gums. I shut my eyes. If only he knew how easy it is, how a simple press of his hips turns me into a monster. How it makes me want to crush us together until I am not sure where Simon starts and I end.

Simon's hands start to fiddle at the top of my jeans.

 _Fuck_.

It takes everything in me to resist. It sucks having a nagging voice inside my head in these moments, but I know better. I know how I'm feeling and what it means. It means that no matter how much I love him, he could be dead in the next 30 seconds if I'm not careful. It means, quite obviously, that we have to stop.

I tense, slowing our kisses, turning my head as I put a gentle pressure on Simon's bicep. Our signal. I don't trust myself to be the one to pull away. I need it to be Simon's doing. Gallant as always, he withdraws his hands quickly, rolling his body off of mine. He doesn't go far though. He tucks his legs up to his chest and lays his head against my arm. He knows the drill, we've been here before. If he is disappointed he doesn’t show it. His flushed face and chapped, grinning lips seem to give evidence to the contrary. I kiss his right temple, then his left, noticing the faint blue ink staining his skin. I grin stupidly. He might be a mess, but he is my mess... _always_.

The word burns into my brain in Simon’s voice. _Always. Always. Always._ It feels strange, to be so content with my life, to be openly in love (even though I'm not sure I've actually told him that I do, in fact, love him.). I barely even recognize myself. Of course, my brain decides now is a good time to remind me about my conversation with Penny from earlier.

“Simon," I whisper.

“I love that." He mumbles, his mouth pressed into my skin.

“What?"

“When you say my name."

I whisper again. “Simon?"

“Mmm." His voice is thick with sleep.

“Do you think…am I? Well…am I…creepy?" 

I feel goosebumps rise on my skin, my stomach in a knot. He lifts his head from my arm, propping onto his elbow. A little line of thought crosses between his eyes. “Creepy?” He repeats, like he's never heard the word before.

I sigh. "Do you need a definition?"

I'm being facetious, but he answers thoughtfully, ignoring my comment and tone.

"What kind of creepy?"

“I don't know, Snow. Pale skin, cold eyes, dead, _I'm going to suck your blood_." I say.

He frowns and leans closer to me. “ _Baz_ ," he says forcefully. “You're not dead. And you're _not_ creepy. What's this about?"

"Nothing. It's not important. But, if there were a scale, 1-10, what I would be?"

“You want _me_ to rate _you_?” He sounds incredulous.

“Never mind,” I mutter, my voice thick with regret. I roll to my side, so I don't have to look at his face. I can feel him quiet next to me, still thinking. I let my eyes close.

“Baz?" I barely hear his whisper. “Baz, you’re not even on the scale. You're better than a scale, you _should_ know that."

“Are you sure?” I hate how small my voice sounds.

He presses his lips onto the skin at the base of my neck, gently pushing my hair away. I can feel his energy buzzing against me. “Well...what does it say about me if you are? Because I'm pretty bloody enthralled with you as is."

I grin. “Word of the day calendar, Snow?"

_“Bastard."_

But he is laughing, the sound filling the room.

**ROMAN**

I loiter outside of a four story flat, one that was surprisingly easy to find. I thought perhaps he would have tried to hide a little better. I was expecting to travel to remote caves, abandon mines, maybe even another country. I was hoping he would make things at least a bit more challenging for me. This is the opposite of hiding. Unless, he thought living on a street filled with this much life would be distracting? Who knows. I'm starting to think that perhaps he isn't so bright. 

I wrinkle my nose at the people rushing past me. I hate it here. Everyone is in a hurry to get nowhere, their faces buried in some type of device. _Ugh_. People are so fucking oblivious. There is no fun in hunting someone that would likely still be clueless even if you said, "I'm going to kill you now." Or worse, ask you to hold off until they could set up their phone to film it. I push myself further against the brick wall of his building. I _try_ to focus on the conversation filtering out of the open window three floors up. But everyone is so fucking loud around me.

"But, I love _you_." Someone whines into their phone as they stomp past. Can I say it again? _Ugh_.

I realize they aren’t going to talk about me tonight. It's disappointing. I try one of the spells I can actually remember from my brief affair with magic, **"Come out, come out wherever you are."** I picture a head of bronze hair as I yell the words, forcing them upward. No one even looks at me. Like I said, fucking oblivious. I wait for a breath, but nothing happens... which isn't surprising. My magic left me long ago, likely trying to find a more _worthy_ vessel. I really don’t miss it, but sometimes it would be convenient to have again. Like right now. If I had magic I could have my prey, unguarded and unprepared, at my fingertips. Of course I would still let him run first. Where is the fun otherwise? I hope he is a fast runner. Otherwise this will be over so quickly, and I'll have hardly gotten to play.

Although, I didn’t know he had a vampire boyfriend when I first found him. No one told me, a detail likely left out to get a lower price for his head. But now, now I can negotiate. I can demand they let me taste him first. They need him, but they don't need him to be _alive_.

The vamp-boy might make things challenging _, of course,_ but that isn't deterring for me. I'm even more curious now. Before, I was stalking a mumbling idiot who didn’t even notice me smelling him, not even when his bag swung into me as an entire classroom stared at us. And now I get to stalk an idiot who has a vampire bodyguard, one who also happens to love him too much for his own good. I could practically hear his fangs popping when I was staring at his golden boy today.

I hear a soft moan of pleasure from the open window.

Gross.

 _That_ is definitely my cue to leave. The memory of their kiss comes flooding back to me. I really wish I had missed that scene. It was like they were sinking into each other, melting together. It was like they needed the kiss the way I need blood, so obviously in love it was embarrassing.

Don't get me wrong. I'm a romantic, truly. I love romance. And, I would be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to those delectable curls. I understand _exactly_ what the vamp sees in him. I'm dead too, so I get it. It's always the liveliest targets that draw you in- the ones who will put up a fight. The people who have so much life in them you think it isn’t fair, that maybe they can share. And they _should_ fucking share. Even if it means they have to die. I'm all for playing with my dinner, but I don't go off and bloody fall in love with it.

 _Species traitor_.

I spit onto the sidewalk and make my way home.

I let my mind wander as I make the slow journey back. I picture sinking my teeth into the neck of someone _so_ alive. I imagine the thickness of his blood, warm and filling my mouth. I plan on letting the delirious feeling of blood lust sluggishly wash over me. I begin to grin wickedly as I include a new performer in my fantasy. The vampire- he will be watching, helpless and broken, as I destroy the boy he loves.

He needs to learn that this boy, regardless of how nice looking, is still nothing more than food. They all are at the end.

That's the difference between us.

Why he's more disturbed than romantic.

Too bad. I like the romantic ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you are all enjoying the story so far! Let me know if you are! I have a few more chapters but I am not quite happy with them yet. I hope to post more later this week!


	6. Sleepless in London

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)
> 
> Warning: mild sexual content

**SIMON**

_“Snow?”_

I can hear Baz's voice, cool and comforting, reaching for me in the dark. But it is too dark, darker than my room should be. _Duh, this isn't your room, Simon._ I look down to see my feet firmly sunk into thick soil. Right.

It smells. The dirt, I think. I hope. Merlin, let it just be dirt. I take a tentative step forward as Baz calls my name again.

The smell gets stronger. Does dirt normally smell like this? Like metal, and earth, and dampness. Like blood and decay.

I freeze as Baz starts to laugh. I've been here before. I know what comes next... the realization that everything around me smells like death.

 _No_ , I think to myself.

_Wake up, Simon. This is stupid. A stupid, stupid dream.  
_

I feel something rush by me. I shut my eyes tightly. I don’t want to see it. I never do. And yet night after night I am tormented by the same dream, the same version of my personal hell. Worse, I'm always fully aware it's a dream. A stupid, stupid dream. Yet, still I can't do anything to prevent what happens, and what I feel deep within my marrow.

It feels real when it happens. Which makes me think it must be. Things that feel this real can't actually _just_ be dreams, right?

I sound crazy. Great snakes, maybe I really am.

I try to wake myself up. I pinch my arms, I rub at my face furiously, tears smearing across my cheeks. 

The air rushes behind me. A twig snaps. 

_No. no. no. no. no._

Everything starts to fade. Baz's voice is still ringing through my head. Soothing me. Whispering lovely words and promises. Whispering _lies._

I know what happens. _  
_

There is a final pull, a final rattle in my breath, a final moment of agony.

I wake up, sweat dripping down my back, the sheets damp beneath me. I can feel my heart pounding in my head, a reminder that I'm not missing even a drop of blood. I run my hands down my body... I'm all here. Not a scratch on me. I touch my fingers to my neck.

Fine. I'm fine.

I exhale, exhausted as always.

I asked my therapist about being aware in dreams, if it was possible. She told me about lucid dreaming. She seemed a bit concerned that I thought my dreams were real. Awareness does not equal realness, apparently. Which, I don't really get. Doesn't being aware of something make it real?  Besides, it's not just being aware. I _feel_ what happens. Almost every night I experience death, and I feel it every fucking time. It is real, as real as anything I have ever felt, and I think she would argue differently if she spent even a single night in my mind.

In the end I just told her I stopped having the dream. _Whatever_. At least I'm used to it now. (To dying. What a thing to get used to.)

A sick feeling spreads through my stomach as my body trembles. I guess I should clarify, I'm mentally used to it. Physically, my body still responds like I've just died. My muscles twitch uncomfortably, despite my best effort of taking deep breaths. I roll onto Baz's side of the bed, hoping the coolness of the sheets will help. It doesn't. I consider lying awake, waiting for him to return from hunting.

I check my phone quickly for the time. It's only 4:45am. Baz could be gone for another hour still.

I could call him, ask him to talk me down a bit? Of course, the ring might scare off whatever he's trying to feed from. Another wave of nausea rolls through me at the thought of him feeding. It doesn't actually bother me... only when I've just felt the dry, itching pain of having my own veins drained.

I grow more restless, my mind filled with a million thoughts and worries. It's useless to even try to sleep at this point.

I dress quickly, grabbing my trainers from the hall before slipping out of the flat as quietly as I can. There will be hell to pay if I wake Penny.

 

**BAZ**

Hunting has been surprisingly easy for me since moving to London. There are endless pigeons and squirrels in almost every park. But, some nights I like to drive just outside the city. I don’t feel as rushed, and I don’t need to be as discreet. And, I can usually find something a bit more appetizing than a rat, like a rabbit. Deer are off the table now. I can't see one without thinking about nearly burning down a forest and having to stop kissing Simon bloody Snow because I needed to drain a fucking deer.

It takes longer when I don't settle for vermin in a park, and I know I could always cast a spell to make things easier , but the crazy part is, I rather enjoy the wait. Not for the kill, but for the peacefulness that washes over me. I like to listen to the forest breathe and hum all around me, it reminds me that everything is alive, even things that don’t appear to be.

I close my eyes and let the frost on the grass sink into my trousers.

\---

The sun is just beginning to show on the horizon when I make it back to London. I skip up the stairs, thoughts of Simon's warm, sleep riddled body swirling around my head. It will feel good ( _so good_ ) to crawl into the sheets beside him.

I quietly enter the flat with the key Simon gave me. I'm not sure Bunce knows about it. But, to be fair, not having a key isn't really a deterrent. It wouldn't take much effort for me to spell myself inside. The warm thoughts in my head disappear as soon as I notice Simon's bedroom door is open. I frown, I am sure I closed it when I left.

I shake out my head. It's nothing to fret about...only I'm certain I closed the door behind me. 

 _Relax,_ I tell myself as I walk slowly toward Simon's room. He probably got up for a snack. I'm sure I'll see him sprawled out, half-naked on his bed for all the world to see, with his door wide open because he couldn't be bothered to shut it behind him. Bunce likes to call him a bloody exhibitionist... I’m inclined to agree at times.

I stare at his empty bed for far too long before it finally sinks in.

He's not here.

An uninvited panic starts to take hold of the rational part to my brain. A thick layer of darkness clouds my judgement. I can’t help it, I think of a million worse case scenarios. He's been kidnapped. It's possible. There are still people who feel an allegiance to the Mage, who feel Simon should have been punished for the Mage's death. Still people who might think Simon could grant them some leverage over someone. Worse, I start to think he could be dead. Someone has killed him. A Goblin. Something were. _Anything_ that Simon has killed.

I think of yellow hair and Simon’s blood.

Paranoia claws at my skin. I start to thrash through his room, looking for anything that could be used as a clue. Crowley, I'm a magical vampire with the ability to start a flame in my hand, and still I can't get a hold of myself. Snow shouldn’t be able to make my heart pound in my chest like this. He shouldn't make me unravel just because he's not in his bed.

He's a grown-ass man ( _ish_ \- more boy than man still). He can do as he pleases. But, I swear if he just stepped out to follow the scent of cherry scones I will personally ensure his murder when he returns.

I growl in frustration as I kick one of Snow’s numerous footballs out of the way. The moron doesn’t even play (at least not well, or consistently enough to justify owning more than one bloody ball.)

**PENNY**

I wake to the sound of muttering and thrashing in Simon’s room. I groan and internally curse Simon. I specifically told him to keep the volume of his _activities_ with Baz down while I'm sleeping.

I haven’t been much of a sleeper since Watford. I generally drift in and out, lucky if I get more than a few hours a night. The last thing I want to wake up to is _this_. I sigh and swing my feet onto the floor. I shiver as the icy hardwood wakes up the last of my sleep fogged brain. “Great snakes, Simon. I’m going to murder you.” I hiss into the cold air as I grab an old Watford sweater. I told him to stop leaving the windows open.

I stomp to Simon’s room, trying to make as much noise as possible, intent on yelling through the door and telling them both to shut up. I don't get quite that far. Baz paces past Simon's open door, kicking at a football on his way. He grumbles something under his breath.

Simon's room is distinctly _lacking_ Simon, and I'm not sure how I feel about Baz trashing Simon's stuff while he is out. I give him a second to notice me, but he's too focused on rummaging under the bed. I sigh. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask, leaning against the door frame. "Does Simon know you're doing... _this_?"

He pops his head up from beside the bed.

I instinctively touch the ring on my pinky, which doesn't go unnoticed.

“Relax, Bunce– _that_ won't be necessary.” His voice is razor sharp.

A pit of shame settles in my stomach. I don't mean to act like I don't trust him. I do, I think... most of the time. But the fact that he can read me without even glancing in my direction doesn't ease my reservations. He is, after all, still a vampire who once tried to steal my best friend's voice.

I clear my throat. “You didn’t answer my question.”

He sighs, pulling at his hair. “ _No_ , Snow doesn't know I'm doing this because he's not bloody well here, is he?” His voice sounds more posh than usual. I mean, his accent is rather posh (especially compared to Simon's), but he doesn't usually sound this obnoxious. I roll my eyes. I swear he only speaks like this when he wants to send a subtle (or not so subtle) reminder that he's better than you. It's _really_ annoying. (And likely a deflection mechanism of some sort. My money is on hiding his vulnerability... but that's beside the point at the moment.).

I already know where Simon is. "He's out running, _obviously_." I say. It's what he does every time he wakes up from a nightmare... which is pretty much most nights.

He glares at me. "Is it _obvious_ , Bunce."

I roll my eyes again. "Yeah, genius. His bloody shoes are gone.”

I see his eyes glance past me to the hallway where Simon always keeps his trainers. “Oh," he whispers sheepishly.

“Yes, _Oh.”_

I feel momentarily triumphant that I've out-observed Baz. It’s petty, but lack of sleep will do that to a person. "Now if you don’t mind, would you kindly _shut up_ before I send the bloody numpties after you.” It isn't a nice thing to say, but again, lack of sleep brings out the worst in me.

Baz nods.

"Excellent!"

As I crawl back into my bed I can't help the thoughts that come tumbling in: Why was he so worried about Simon being gone? Baz is a lot of things, but he’s rarely irrational. _  
_

It's not something I want to think about. Not right now.

I wait impatiently for what will surely be a restless sleep.

**SIMON**

I slip back into the flat a little over an hour later.

Baz looks up when I enter my room, his cheeks flushed in a way that only happens for the few hours after he feeds.

“Whoa, what happened?” I ask.

It looks like someone let a niffler loose in the place. (Not that they are real.) (Which I was really disappointed to learn.)

“You weren’t here." Baz says, providing absolutely zero clarity on the situation. I frown at him, how can he possibly sound bored already? He also doesn't offer me a further explanation, as usual. He assumes his three words should cover everything I need to know.

I stare at him.

" _What_?" He snaps.

I sigh. I don't want to fight. I _want_ to take full advantage of the fact that he can currently blush. It's not often that I get to witness the physical manifestations of what my touch can do to him.

“Sorry." I say quietly. “I didn't think you would be back yet. I went for a run—“ I let my voice trail off as he looks down at the floor.

I feel stupid.

 _This_ is stupid.

_Why in Merlin's name is he cross with me?_

Silence fills the space between us. I sigh again, trying to keep my frustration at bay. I'm really _not_ spoiling for a fight, but I'm worried he might be. I kneel before him, forcing myself into his vision.  " _Baz_ ," I soften my voice. It's a mistake... an epic one.

He lifts his gaze to mine. His dark eyes seething, his lips curling into a sneer. "Don't start patronizing _me_ , Simon Snow." He hisses. "It's not my fault if I couldn't find what I was looking for in this bloody mess of a room of yours."

“All right, _fine_ ," I state, as neutrally as I can manage. "Were you looking for something in particular?”

His gaze hardens. "You _can't_ be serious."

I shrug.

Another mistake.

"You _are_ serious? Crowley. I was looking for the one thing absent from _your_ room  — _you_."

"I only went—"

"I know that, _now_! But I didn't before...and —" He stops, glaring at me again. "Just, all you had to do was stop and think for half a second before leaving."

Now I'm really fucking confused. "Are you mad I went for a run?"

"Jesus Christ, _no_. How can you be _this_ thick?"

I growl at him. He didn't need to say that. He knows he didn't.

"Is it really necessary for you to be a fucking arse right now?" I spit at him. My frustration starts to build, my rage boiling in a way that used to cause my magic to swell uncomfortably. (Baz hasn't lost his ability to set me off just because we are snogging. Surely that's a commendable feat.)

He raises an eyebrow. “Is it really necessary for you to be so inconsiderate?"

" _What_?"

He stands up and starts to pace across my room. "Would it have been so hard to send me a message saying you were going out?"

He looks at me like I'm the only one being irrational. Which, I'm not. _He's_ irrational, and now I'm pissed. "I don't know, why don't you tell me once you've taken your own advice!"

He stops pacing. “ _Excuse me?”_

He raises a perfect eyebrow in displeasure at me. It makes my heart thunder angrily against my chest. It isn't fair that he can raise his eyebrow so effortlessly, that his fucking eyebrow can scold me better than I am sure my own mother would have been able to. I am half tempted to go over and smack it back down for him.

I square my shoulders. I try to think about what I want to say first, but that starts to take too long. I don't want him to start talking before I can make my point. “Baz, you literally leave _all-the-fucking-time_ to hunt, and you _never_ think to let me know. I wake up from nightmares completely alone because you think you can do whatever the fuck you want!” I'm breathless from shouting. I also don't feel any better. It’s a low blow. I shouldn't make him feel guilty about hunting.

His eyes darken as he snorts. "Well, as long as we both agree that I _can_ do whatever I want."

"That's not what I meant! And if you can, so can I!"

He pulls at his hair in frustration. "How _old_ are you? That's not how it works."

"Why the fuck not?"

" _Simon."_ He warns. He turns away from me, like he's done, but I'm not.

I reach out and grab his wrist. "What, Baz? What makes it so different when it's me?"

"Stop."

"No, tell me. Is it because you have money? A family? Because you think you're so much better than me that you —"

"No, _Simon_. Stop. You’re not magical anymore, okay? You can’t just _disappear.”_

I flinch.

He's right.

I don't like being reminded though, not by him.

I drop his wrist, taking a step back.

This time he reaches for me. "Wait, I didn't mean for it to come out like—"

“I didn’t _disappear,"_ I spit at him. _"_ I went for a fucking run! Shall I alert the Queen of bloody England before I leave the flat next time? Will that make you happy?"

The side of his mouth twitches. “Are you referring to me as the Queen of England, Snow?” 

Does he think joking will make me forget what he's just said?

My face starts to grow hot as he stares at me, his pompous mouth still twitching. I don’t know what to say, but I want to say _something_. I feel like I am simmering, a pot spluttering on a burner. I stand taller, trying to gather the words I so desperately want to say to him. This is a conversation we've managed to avoid until now— the ultimate truth of his superiority in every single fucking way. He's clearly as aware of it as I am.

He sighs impatiently. “Simon, use your words.”

And even though he uses my first name, which is how I know he's trying to be soft, I still feel like I can’t breathe. Because he actually said _it_. The thing I hate most. More than the reminder of being Normal. More than when he spits out my last name like I mean nothing. I shut down. And it feels like it used to, but I can’t smell the smoke anymore.

And it hurts. It really hurts.

I don’t say another word, just silently head to the bathroom to shower.

**BAZ**

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

_Simon, please. I'm sorry._

_I didn’t mean to say that. Any of it._

**SIMON**

I let the water run down my body. I let it burn my skin. I welcome the heat. It's a distraction from everything built up inside me. Everything I’m feeling. The fact that Baz still goes for the lowest possible blow. After _everything_ , he still says the one thing I can’t recover from.

I stand under the water with my forehead pressed against the cool tile for what feels like ages before I hear the click of the lock. Only Baz could gracefully pick a lock with magic. Even Penny doesn’t know how to do anything but blow open the door. (It's just like him. _The tosser_ _.)_

“Simon,” he whispers. It's a peace offering. One I don’t trust myself to respond to. Either I’ll say something equally cruel to him, or I’ll climb into his arms and cry and tell him everything is fine. Neither seems like a great option right now.

“I'm sorry," he adds. “I was worried. I do worry... about _you_.”

My chest tightens, because I know how much it takes for him to say that— to admit I mean something, to admit that what he feels for me is enough to worry. It makes him vulnerable, and Baz hates to expose a weakness. 

“I have to hunt, Simon.”

_I know._

“But you’re right. I should tell you before I go.” He pauses, but I don't respond. He lowers his voice more. "I didn't know you were having so many nightmares. You could have told me. You know that, right?"

_Yes. I know._

"I wish it didn't have to be this way, you know I do.”

His voice starts to break, and still I say nothing. Now _I_ feel like the tosser.

 _“_ Simon?"

I sigh. “You know,” I start. I am still angry, my voice raw and spitting. “I'm not useless _just_ because I lost my fucking magic.”

He doesn't hesitate with his response. “I would _never_ think that.”

“You practically said it.”

His reply is quiet. “Simon, that's not fair. I didn't.”

 “ _Whatever.”_

It's a word I vomit out, because my useless brain literally can't think of anything more eloquent. I cringe at how I sound. Baz is right, of course. He didn’t actually say or imply I was useless. I let the silence consume us again. Eventually, I hear the sound of him undressing; a zipper, buttons, falling clothes. He steps into the shower behind me, standing inches from my skin.

I don’t ask what he is doing, ignoring the fact that we have definitely never done _this_ before.

**BAZ**

I don’t know what I am doing.

I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea. It feels intimate, like we are sharing in a secret, and I think that maybe, just maybe, I got it right.

**SIMON**

I turn to face him, prepared to tell him off for thinking he can just step into _my_ bloody shower, like he really is the Queen of England. I am ready to give him hell. I pause mid-breath.

I swallow.

His grey eyes stay focused on my face. Intense. Raw. Pleading.   

I was _not_ prepared for _this_. I don't know that I was thinking or expecting. It makes sense he would be naked... in a shower. ( _My shower. With me in it... Merlin.)  
_

He wears it well. His nakedness, that is.

I swallow again.

I try not to think about the fact that Baz is naked. (That I'm completely naked in front of him too... why am I just realizing this? Why isn't he freaking out more? Maybe he doesn't think I'm very nice to look at? I mean, my body is a bit of a mess... Shut up, Simon.)

Naked.

What a weird word.

A word I apparently can't stop thinking. 

I've never seen Baz this vulnerable. He's exposed in every sense of the word, his body available to gaze over at my leisure. We haven't done _this_. We spent years not even taking our shirts off in front of each other. Even now, in our tangle of limbs and frantic kissing, we haven't gotten to this point.

It feels like he is offering me something incredibly precious. He's so, so, _so_ beautiful. Truly. I don't think the word has ever belonged to anyone else the way it does to him. My hands tremble, aching to reach out and touch him, to explore this gift he is offering me.

I can feel my anger start to dissolve.

 _“Bastard."_ I curse at him.

How did he know this would work?

I give in, stepping slightly closer, my legs weak. He doesn't stop staring at me.

 _Is this okay?_ I want to ask.

He nods at me, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. (Why does he always know?)

I tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear, my fingers shaking, my breathing ragged. I'm sure he can hear my heartbeat, drumming loudly against my chest. He lets his head fall into my hand as I trace my finger along his cheekbones, high and sharp, and down the length of his jaw. I stop and cup his chin with my hand.

“Simon,” he whispers.

I soften, just for a moment, because Baz saying my name is my kryptonite. But then I furrow my brow in anger. I push him backwards, a little harder than necessary, my anger not quite ready to let go. His back hits the shower wall with a satisfying thud. His eyes grow wide, likely unsure of what I am going to do next.

I'm not quite sure either.

Kiss? Leave? Yell?

Improvise?

Indulge?

I grin, letting my eyes wander down the length of him.

 _Yeah_ , I like the sound of that. Indulging. Improvising.

I feel the heat build in my stomach.

He's lovely, so very lovely. I'm going to take full advantage of the anger flushing my skin and the blood still pumping through his veins.

“I'm _not_ useless,” I whisper hungrily.

I pull his face toward mine, kissing him roughly. I don't give him a chance to respond.

**BAZ**

I can’t think. I can’t… I can’t.

 _Crowley_.

**SIMON**

I grab Baz’s hair and wind my fingers through, pulling hard as I continue to kiss him. I feel him, alive and burning under my touch. His hands find my face and he pushes back against me, his hips grinding into my own. I let out a soft exhale and slip my head back as he runs his fingers through my curls.

 _Bastard_.

**BAZ**

Simon exhales and dips his head back, exposing his long neck. I can see his pulse as I watch him swallow, inches from my face.

_Control yourself._

It's a harsh reminder that I am not like most people. I can't give into my urges so easily. I need to constantly be aware. But, of course, I don’t listen. He's too tempting, with his golden skin slick and glistening, beads of water begging to be licked and sucked from his body. I press my lips gently to his neck, so very gently. My stomach drops heavily.

It's a mistake.

I stop thinking.

I let something else (urges? desire? longing? being eighteen and stupidly in love with a bloody hero?) take over.

I kiss Simon's throat, right at the apex of his pulse. It's the very spot I should avoid. It's the sound he makes when I kiss him that snaps me back into control. The deep, biting sound that vibrates under my lips. It reminds me of something else. A dream, vivid and real, where he made a similar sound, only it was echoing his pain.

Simon frowns when I pull away. “No,” he whispers into my neck, “keep going, s'fine.”

I shake my head, breathless, a flush in my cheeks I'm worried is related to more than just fooling around with my boyfriend.

It's exhausting, always being this worried.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers again, "like this.”

He pushes against me, circling his hips into mine. His lips find the base of my neck. He starts slowly, his kisses moving towards my ear, down my jaw, under my chin. He pauses when he reaches my throat. "Here, yeah?" He whispers. I nod. It's almost exactly the same place. "It's all right... you'll see." He sucks on the skin delicately, avoiding using his teeth, like he is the one with fangs. Which I suppose is the point. He's trying to show me it can be done.

It's endearing.

And... _Crowley_.

My whole body scorches as he sucks harder. I shift back, trying to keep myself in control. “Snow…you know I can’t do that to—“

I am trying to say _you_ , but he has moved to the hollow of my collarbone. He's done with his lesson. Those mighty fucking teeth of his start gently grazing, his hands still wound in my hair. I press my head against the tile as he makes a masterpiece out of my neck. I don't know what to do with my hands so I trace patterns lightly over the scars on his back, still raised and thick.

I drum my fingers down his ribs, past his hips, towards his pelvis, just to see... just to.... I don't even know.

" _Baz_." He moans.

I can’t think.

_This. It is too much. It was a terrible idea._

But I can’t stop.

I want more.

I pull his face back up to my mouth and press my lips hard against his.

**SIMON**

I pull his bottom lip between my teeth and begin a pattern of gently biting and then running my tongue along the freshly broken skin.

I know it drives him crazy.

I decide I'm still angry.

I plan on killing him with kisses.

I grin wickedly against his mouth.

**BAZ**

I am aching all over, ignoring every instinct telling me I should stop this now.

“Snow,” my voice catches. He looks up at me from under his mess of curls, a darker bronze from the shower, my bottom lip still between his teeth. “ _Simon_ ,” I plead breathlessly. He slowly releases my bottom lip, no doubt satisfied in making it pink.

I’m about to tell him we should stop, when I realize the water has turned cold. His skin beneath my hands is colder than it should be. Logic is replaced with my uncontrollable need to return his skin to proper Snow temperature. Burning hot and flushed.

I reach behind him and turn off the tap. I don’t say a word as I grab his hand and lead him out of the bathroom, towards his room. I am not thinking at all. Bunce’s door is still closed but she could easily walk out any minute. I am reckless, lost in the desire burning through my body.

I close the door to Simon’s room and shove him up against it.

“Baz?”

He is still holding my hand.

I can’t think clearly. I can't answer him. I can only focus on exactly what I can see in front of me in this moment.

A boy with impossibly blue eyes. 

I feel the growl in my throat. It is desperate and deep. I'm not sure I've ever wanted something so much. I'm not sure it's good to want something _this_ much. The thought doesn't stop me. I press myself against him, so hard I think I may be crushing him, but he doesn't relent, he presses back into me with equal weight, because he's always so gloriously fucking bold. 

I wonder if it could ever be like this with anyone else?

 _No_. It never could.

Our kisses are a chaotic mess. We are both frantic, clinging to each other, missing our marks, and yet still everything is on fire. We tumble to the floor as a tangle of limbs, his soft skin and my sharp angles. I roll us onto our sides, our legs naturally slipping over and under each other.

I force myself to slow down, even though the erratic beating of Simon's heart is begging for me to do the exact opposite. 

This is more of the grope fest I had always imagined... and now that I'm finally here, I'm fucking terrified.

 _Slow_. _Stay in control._

I make it my mantra. I repeat the words again, and again. I can do this if I just go slowly. I stare at him, I drink him in, and appreciate every line of his body. I let my hands run steadily over his moles and freckles. There isn’t a single part of him I don’t love. Not a single part I could ever grow tired of.

He pouts at me, because as with most things Snow has little control in this. He usually barges forward with a flourish and heat that should be a fucking disaster but somehow works for him. His heart is still hammering in his chest, the slowness of my movements driving him mad. His lower lip juts out further in frustration, begging to be chewed between my teeth.

“ _Baz_ ," he huffs out my name, pressing his hips towards me so I can't help but _feel_   what he's asking for. The sneaky bastard, he's always encouraging the worst in me. (Although, if this is the worst... I'll gladly take it.)

If only he knew how desperately I want more.

I don't indulge, not yet.

“ _Basilton_.”

Now he’s pleading with me.

I snarl. “Not my name, Snow.” Only, it sounds so lovely from his lips, all the elements I hate about it— the strangeness, the pretentiousness—it all melts under his tongue. I feel a new urge, one that rises up often in his presence, a softness, a desire to be tender, to stroke his face and tell him all the things I wonder if he's ever heard.

"Not mine either." He pouts.

The softness grows.

I let myself indulge in it.

“Simon,” I whisper into his neck. He smiles. "You're so fucking beautiful.”

I _had_ to say it.

**SIMON**

I can feel an embarrassed flush creep into my cheeks. Everything is hot. Truthfully, I have never felt beautiful before. Not once. Again, it's a word made for someone like Baz... not someone like me. But, right now, under his burning gaze, I can't help but believe him. I close what little distance is left between us, pushing everything I have into him, like I used to do with my magic. I give him all of me.

He can have it.

_Always._

**BAZ**

I kiss across his face, one side to the next. Simon is making my mantra useless. He pushes against me again, begging for more, taking and giving control all at once. I feel how alive he is under my touch, and I just want more. _I_ _always want more._ I am greedy, urgently trying to drink all of him in before he changes his mind.

My lips begin to feel raw, but still I don't stop myself.

I find myself hovering over his throat. I'm still too afraid to do more than breathe on him, but that seems to be working out quite all right. He moans into my hair, pulling my head closer to him. (I did _not_ think the breathing would work. Snow's so weird. So weird and so... bloody.... _stunning_.)  He lets his hand fall to my waist, drumming his fingers on my hips. He hesitates only for a moment before he slowly slides his hand down me. My breath catches.

I feel his nervous energy. “Sorry," he exhales into my hair. “I can stop?”

 _Yes,_ I think. We should stop. Because I don’t know if I can control myself if we go further.

“Have you?” I ask. I lift my head up so I can see him better. Simon can never keep his emotions off his face. For some irrational reason his answer seems important to know... something I _need_ to know in this exact moment. He looks down, clearly embarrassed.

“No," he whispers shakily. I frown, it's not the answer I was expecting.

"What?" He asks. "Is it... o-obvious?"

I shake my head, both at him for thinking he's doing _anything_ wrong, and at myself. I realize I've worded my question all wrong. Of course _he's_ never done _this._ I know he's never been with a bloke. _  
_

"I meant with Agatha, didn't she—“

“Baz, I said _no_.”

I frown again, and he lets out a frustrated laugh. "Look, I'm new at all of this. Is that what you want to know? But, is this really what you want to talk about right _now?”_ He pushes against me on the word ‘now’, a reminder of his gloriously naked body in front of me. Crowley, I can be thick.

"No, I don't want to talk at all." I tell him with a devilish grin.

Another nervous flush creeps up his body. "I guess, I should... I mean, um, have you?” He asks.

“Never." I whisper carefully against his mouth. I don't tell him that I never saw the point unless it was with him.

“I can stop?” He offers again.

My response is a command. “Don't you fucking dare, Snow.”

He swallows, all showy and thick, as he slides his hand to below my abdomen again. When he wraps his fingers around me I think I might die. Right here. _Dead_. (Or more dead, if I am being factually accurate.) I feel myself pulsing against him, feel my heart beating much faster than I thought it was capable of. Simon leaves his fingers wrapped around me, not moving. It takes me a second to realize he is waiting for me to tell him to stop, or to signal and squeeze his bicep.

I don’t.

How could I when everything feels so fucking good?

He releases me for a second, reaching over to grab something from under his bed.

"I don't want it to... you know, friction." He says, like he needs to explain why he's reaching for lotion. There is an embarrassed flush creeping into his cheeks that I desperately want to taste.

I roll my eyes at him, which is about all I'm capable of doing as I watch the liquid pool between his hands before he grabs hold of me again.

“ _Baz_." He murmurs my name into my hair and he stops waiting, stops hesitating, and it makes me feel alive, alive, alive. 

It's an addicting feeling. I start to thrust against him, a growl caught in my throat. I want _more.  
_

So much more.

I want _everything_.

My lips trail across his jaw, my hands tangling into his hair as he unravels all of my control. I start to pant, which is... never mind. I'm not going to ruin this for myself by being self-conscious. Snow's a mouth breather. Panting is _fine_.  I do decide that I want to make him feel this good. I roll him over so he is under me, which I think might give me better access to all the spots I want to explore on him. He doesn't break stride, the magnificent fuck. I lick from his collarbone to his ear. I don't know why.... do people like licking?

I risk a glance at Simon's face. He has eyes closed, but also this delirious little grin on his face, balanced with the slight furrow of concentration between his brows.

I take it the licking is okay.

I do it again, this time tracing my mouth back to this throat. I keep ending up here. I breathe against him, wondering if this spot will taste differently than the rest of him.

“I trust you.” He whispers.

I glance at him, this time his eyes are open.

I know what he wants.

I know what I want.

I know I can do it.

I make sure my fangs are pulled into my gums. I double check. I _triple_ check. Because I can feel them straining for release. I gently, so gently, pick the skin of his shoulder between my lips.

I don’t bite. I would never bite.

I make sure I never break the skin. I am focusing so hard, but it is enough, enough for him to breathe faster, a smile cracking his entire face open as he pushes me to the edge with his hand.

I move to his throat, to the spot I've been eyeing up for the last thirty minutes. When I pick at the skin there he moans so loudly I can’t hold back anymore. I release against him, my muscles collapsing. He pulls me hard against him and kisses me full on the mouth. He murmurs something I don’t make out against my lips.

**SIMON**

_“I love you. I love you. I fucking love you.”_

I pull him tight against me, cradling his head as it rests between my shoulder and neck.

**BAZ**

My nose is right against his throat. I can feel the blood pulsing through him. His heartbeat is thudding against my chest, and I can smell his desire mixing with my own. It is the worst possible time for this to happen.

 _No,_ I think.

But it is too late, my control is gone and my fangs pop despite my best efforts. I feel the anger build in me, the anger at my own condition, at the fact that fucking vampirism is going to ruin this, because no one, not even Simon Snow, can possibly find this endearing. With all the other fucking shit I have to deal with as a vampire, having fangs that react not just to blood, or rage, but also to sexual arousal seems like the cruelest of all jokes.

I try to pull away in embarrassment, because it _is_ embarrassing, but Simon has me wrapped tightly against him.

"I don't care," he says. His grip tightens even more. But he should care, and he needs to understand that.

“Simon.” It's all I mange to whisper before his scream pierces the air around us. He thrashes away from me, screaming so loud that I feel it in every single bone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you are all enjoying the story so far! Let me know if you are! I have a few more chapters but I am not quite happy with them yet. I hope to post more later this week!


	7. It wasn't me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)

I wake to the sound of screaming, a cold sweat greets me as I throw myself from my bed. It's a scream I recognize.

 _Simon_.

My brain feels cloudy, like I can't quite grasp reality at the moment. His voice is so loud, the sound raw and strangled. It feels like I can't think, like his voice is scratching at the inside of my brain. I cradle my head in my hands, trying to block out some of the puncturing noise.

I reach Simon's room in record time, only I can’t see him. _Where is he?_ It takes me way too long to finally notice _them_. Figures in the dark, near the open window.

**"Let there be light!”**

I illuminate the scene before me, desperately wishing for this all to be a nightmare. It feels like I've been punched in the throat. My breath catches, my words sharp against my lips but I can’t make them release. Baz is crouched beside Simon murmuring something, rocking on his feet. Simon screams louder, his eyes wide and his body rigid. I can already see his body is a canvas of bruising, his neck is red, his lips chapped.

And then I notice the teeth tracks across his body and it's like I'm drowning in cold water. Every breath I take is icy, painful. I try to hold my breath, but I'm panicking. The automatic impulse is to inhale deeper. To swallow more water as it burns my lungs. 

I don’t know how long I just stand there, like a complete idiot. _Simon needs you,_ I whisper fiercely to myself. Finally, I snap.

“What the fuck did you do?!” I roar over the sound of Simon. Baz looks up at me. His fangs are out, filling his mouth. His eyes are wild as they roam over me. He looks like a wounded animal, an animal who has just attacked. I take a step back.

“Penny, I didn’t…I swear.” He can’t get the words out. He turns to vomit. 

I don’t know what to do, I can’t think. I can only feel a pressure; a deafening pressure and I just want it to stop. I barely register what I am doing. I shove Baz as hard as I can out of the way. My hands burn against his bare chest.

 “ _Move_." It’s a command. Deathly calm. He doesn’t argue.

I cradle Simon in my arms, casting every healing and soothing spell I can remember, but nothing is working. Finally, Baz mummers something and I see a flicker of his magic in the air. Simon quiets against me. 

“What did you use?” I ask, smoothing Simon's hair from his face, checking his pulse. For all I know he’s cursed him.

“Lion King.” He says softly.

I turn to glare at him and he looks away. “It was— **hush, my darling. Don’t fear, my darling, the lion sleeps tonight**.”

It’s an impossible spell. It doesn’t work unless the person you are casting on trusts you, and even then it only works if that person is in true fear of their mortality. It usually does fuck all if the person _also_ needs a healing spell.

I snort. “Of course. You’re the fucking lion.”

“Penny,” he whispers.

“Get out.” My voice is strong. Protective. I rock Simon closer.

“Penny. No, I swear. I didn’t.”

“ _Get out!_ ” I am thunder. Louder than I thought I could be.

He hesitates over in the corner. I look directly at him. “I swear, Basil. I _will_ murder you if you don’t leave.”

_I mean it._

**SIMON**

I watch as Baz leaves the room. He glances at me, his eyes filled with pain, his face breaking in front of me. _No_. I want to tell him to stay. I try to reach my hand out but my muscles ache from the effort. It feels like they have been encased in cement at my sides.

The words I want won’t come. I've been betrayed by my own voice before, but this time it feels extra cruel. I try to say his name again. It is on my lips, each familiar letter ready to leave.

 _Baz_.

I always knew his name would be the last thing I said before I finally slipped into nothingness. 

**BAZ**

I didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t.

_Did I?_

_Oh, Crowley. Simon. Did I?_

**PENNY**

I’ve tucked Simon into bed, spelling warm flannel pajamas onto him. I thought it would help. I don’t know why. I guess it just felt like something I _could_ do, because right now I'm mostly being reminded of all my limitations.

I watch as new bruises form on his skin. They keep appearing, each new one freshly dark and stained an ugly shade of purple-blue. Only his face is free from the bruises. Instead, deep shadows fall under his eyes. I think he's properly sleeping now, which seems a bit like a miracle. As does the peaceful expression on his face. I can't remember the last time Simon had a peaceful sleep.

I sigh, tucking my legs under me as I reposition myself on Simon's bed. I give him one last glance before I open the search browser on my phone.  _Vampire bites_. The search brings up thousands of hits. I have to scroll through ten pages of ridiculous crap before I see what might be a credible source. I look back to Simon, to the puncture marks across his neck and chest, raised and swollen.

_How could he?_

After an hour of research I have to stop. My body is shaking, and far tears keep swelling in my eyes. I rest my head beside Simon's, placing my hand on his heart. The thumping against my fingers causes me to cry harder. I'm too afraid to move. Too afraid that if I take my hand away the thumping will stop.  

 _Please_ , I beg, please let him be okay.

**ROMAN**

How easy it was to find a witch willing to do what I don’t have the magic for. _London_. I spit. I’ve always said it was filled with the soulless. She barely asked any questions.

“Can you make it feel like a vampire bit him?” I had asked her.

“Just one bite?” She had asked back.

I had to think about it. It was a good question. I liked her for it. Originally, one was the plan, but I wanted him weak. ”More. Countless.” I finally answered. 

She shook her head. “I need a number.”

I thought of his blood, of his screams, of his pain. I was already grinning. I could pick the number, I could control the pain. “Okay, let’s start with fifty.” She had shrugged carelessly. I could have said a million and it wouldn't have phased her.

I had to clarify some things, because I still wanted him to be alive, I still wanted his blood to be warm. “Will it turn him?”

She shrugged again. "Likely not. Just feel like it."

Each response she gave was better than the one before. The last thing was the most important. I needed something to weaken his boyfriend, something to make him doubt himself. To give into his self-loathing.

“Can you make it feel like someone he trusts did it— can you make it feel like a betrayal?”

I was giddy when she gave her answer, her voice was monotonous, like I had asked her to spell me a biscuit. Something easy and mundane. “Yes. I think I know something. True love kiss, but with a bite.”

\---

We stand together looking up to the open window of their flat. She murmurs and hums before finally letting the words float through the air. " **True love bites.”**

Oh, what a marvelous spell! I get her to put a silencing spell on the flat too, just in case. Not that it matters, I doubt anyone would try to help.

When I hear his screams my lips curl in a delicious smile. “That will do,” I tell the witch. She walks away with her newly acquired money, never looking back, leaving a boy screaming out in pain.

 _Soulless_.

**BAZ**

The street is too bright when I stumble out of the building. I feel disoriented, breathless, on the verge of losing my fucking mind. 

People stare at me. 

I double check if I managed to spell myself clothes. I did. I guess it's just me then. The crazy look on my face as I lean against the side of the building.

Someone stops to ask if I am okay, I nod my head and push them away.

I slump to the ground.

My mind has almost gone blank with darkness by the time I see him.

Yellow hair.

Right under Simon’s window.

A cackle and a grin like he's just been given the biggest prize of his life.

**SIMON**

When I wake up Penny is sitting beside me on the bed. The room is dark still, my navy sheets pulled tight around me. _How long was I out for?_

Isit up and feel pain radiate through my body. I do a once over, my skin feels sweaty and cold under my hands. It doesn't feel like my skin.

_What the fuck happened?_

I try to say Penny's name, only a rasp comes out instead.My throat burns and itches as I try to make enough noise for Penny to notice. She finally jerks, her movements rushed and clumsy. She turns on the bedside light, aligning her face with mine, a breathless question on her lips. She looks terrible.

“Simon,” she whispers. I smile. “Oh _, Simon_.” She leans forward onto me and starts to sob. I wrap my hands around her, squeezing, ignoring the pain across my shoulders.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

I go to answer, but again, nothing. She contorts her face, confused. “Can you talk?”

I shake my head no. I am as confused as her. I search the room, looking for Baz. Where is he? And then I remember him leaving.

_Why did he leave?_

I make a sound like I am clearing my throat.

**PENNY**

Simon's eyes roam the room, his neck straining as he tries to glimpse the hall from his open door. Pain crumples his face as he tries to speak.

“He isn’t here.” I tell him gently. He shakes his head. Trying to sit up, trying to get out of bed.

“Simon,” I whisper, “he can’t be here anymore. He did this.”

He gives me a wild look and then tries to laugh.

I sit quietly until his laughter turns into a hard glare.

"I'm sorry." I say.

He shakes his head fiercely. And then he starts to run his hand through the air, making a gesture, frantically, trying to get me to understand. But his motions are jerky, distorted, his perception is wrong. It takes me embarrassingly long to realize he wants something to write with. I roll my eyes at myself. Why didn’t I think of that?

I open a new note on my phone and hand it to him. He looks exhausted still. “Simon, we can do this later.” He shakes his head fiercely again.

“You should rest, I can tell you’re in pain.”

And honestly, so am I. I can’t stand seeing him like this. None of my spells were strong enough to heal him, and I don’t even know what happened, let alone how long he will feel like this. I can't even reassure him his voice will come back. It might not. I don't know. I don't know _anything_ , and it I feels like I have let him down.

**SIMON**

I shake my head at Penny. I need to do this now. She needs to know it wasn’t Baz. I _know_ it wasn’t. It takes unprecedented effort to type out my message. I keep having to start over. Even autocorrect is confused by my jumble of letters.

I finally manage to write out: _Not Baz. Trust me. Promise?_ It is barely a proper thought, but I know Penny understands. She _has_ to understand. I lay my head back on the pillow, stretching my legs. My muscles are aching, like I have been running for my entire life. And everything burns, especially my throat. I wonder if it is swollen shut? 

I am so exhausted.

Penny pulls the covers back up and takes the phone from my hand. I search her eyes as she reads it. She catches my gaze and shakes her head. “Okay,” she says reluctantly. “I trust you. I promise.”

I burrow against the pillow. It was all I needed to hear her say.

I slip back into sleep.

**PENNY**

Simon has been asleep for almost a full day now. I haven’t left his side, and I have read almost everything I can find online about vampire bites. I shudder, some of the articles were overly graphic. I’ve learned that one bite is enough to send you spiraling into days of pain. Like a burning iron pressed against your skin constantly, a burn that keeps bursting open and won’t heal. I’ve counted at least twenty across Simon’s body, but I am sure there are more I can’t see.

A quiet knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. I sigh. I already know who it is going to be. I have about twenty missed calls on my phone. I am surprised he didn’t show up sooner. It's most unfortunate that he would actually be the most helpful in figuring out what happened. 

Baz almost falls into the living room when I open the door. He steadies himself and then leans against the door frame. He runs a nervous hand through his hair. He looks worse than I do.

 _Good_.

“I didn’t think you would answer,” he says. It's a rather stupid thing to say. Especially for Baz. 

“Then _why_ are you here.”

His words come out broken and uncertain, he sounds nothing like Baz. “I…I just need to see him. _Please_.”

I look him up and down, I feel like all his height is gone. Like I am looking at a tiny, tragic child instead of someone who is normally arrogant and self-assured of his own brilliance. Unfortunately, he actually _is_ quite brilliant (not that I would ever admit that to him.)

I sigh. “You’re lucky Simon loves you.”

”What?”

“ _He_ says it wasn’t you.”

Baz flinches. “Do you agree?”

I shake my head at him. "It doesn't matter what I think. This is Simon's idiotic choice, not mine." I almost slam the door in his face. Protecting Simon is now my biggest concern.

“ _Please,_ Penny.” Baz puts his hand on the door like he can read my mind. His voice comes out as a whimper. I didn’t think Pitches knew how to beg.

If it were up to me Baz would already be dead. But, I promised to trust Simon. I sigh, letting Baz know my reservations as I keep my word. “You can see him if you want.”

He looks at me, his grey eyes filled with hope and gratitude. I almost ask him to stop looking at me like that, because grateful Baz freaks me out.

“Really?” He asks quietly. 

**BAZ**

I didn’t think she would let me in.

“Yes.” She frowns at me. “But I will kill you if I find even a single new mark on him.”

I nod. I know she means it. I like her more for it. 

**PENNY**

I hope Simon is right.

**BAZ**

“Thank you.” I say to Bunce as I walk by her, I hope she knows I mean it. She follows me, her arms crossed, as I tentatively approach Simon. I know I have to do this with her watching.

“Simon,” I whisper. I already feel the tears burning behind my eyes. There are bites across him that I know I didn’t make. _I couldn’t_ have _._ He opens his eyes and gives me a lazy smile, like this is all normal. His mouth opens and he pulls his brows together in frustration. He makes a small rasp.

I look to Penny. She keeps her voice quiet. “He can’t talk. I don’t know why. Nothing I’ve read is helpful.”

I _do_ know why. I remember my own voice, lost and burning, when I was five years old. Unable to talk, unable to express my terror or my own grief for the loss of my mother. _I remember._

I grab both of Simon’s hands in mine and feel him squeeze. His blue eyes burn into me. His eyes are beautiful— they shouldn’t be, but they are. On anyone else they would be plain, the colour of a thousand other blue eyes. Not cerulean, or cobalt, or indigo— nothing more than blue. But against his golden skin, his bronze hair, his splattering of moles and freckles, they become hypnotic, where you need to look just to get away from the brazen gold of the rest of him.

It is too much for me to handle. Simon is worse off now than he was after any battle at Watford. And it happened under my watch, with us… _together_. How can I not blame myself? Why did I lose control, why didn’t I notice what was happening? Tears start to slide down my face.

What a fucking disappointment I must be.

**SIMON**

I remove my hands from his and reach out to stroke his face. I pull him closer, shifting onto my elbow so I can face him. I keep pulling until I want to scream in pain, until I am grunting from the effort, until I can no longer feel the space between us. I push my forehead into his, my hands on either side of his face, kissing every tear that falls.

 _Don’t cry_.

**BAZ**

“Simon,” I sob. “I didn’t.”

He nods his head against me.

"I'm so sorry.” This apology comes easily. So much easier than any I've ever made.

He pulls away and runs his hand through my hair, smiling at me. 

I can hear him telling me it's okay. I know that's what he wants to say. But it isn't. 

I let him think it is anyway. I selfishly hold onto his comfort. I let him absolve me of some of my guilt.   

I climb into bed beside him and pull him against my chest, leaning back against the headboard. I feel his body relax against me. I pull out my wand and begin to gently circle the bite marks across his skin. I concentrate on healing spells, hoping I can at least take away some of the sting. He looks up and kisses me softly on the mouth.

“Simon, love,” I whisper against his lips. “Please, forgive me. I love you. I love you. _I love you_.” I whisper over and over again against his mouth, like I can heal him, like it will be enough.

When I finally stop sobbing, Simon is still laying on my chest, now asleep, my arms wrapped protectively around him, my head buried in his hair.

I look up, expecting to see Bunce's disapproving stare. 

I stare at the empty doorframe. 

**PENNY**

It feels too intimate. I realize I am watching something that should be shared only between Simon and Baz.

It's beautiful. But, it is not my moment. Baz's kisses and whispers are not for me, and I feel a bit daft for watching as long as I have.

I promised Simon I would trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is having a lovely week! Let me know if you are enjoying so far :)


	8. Wake the monster inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the characters that appear in this work from Carry On belong to the brilliant Rainbow Rowell- I am just borrowing them :)
> 
> This is a shorter chapter. I originally had it as part of the last one, but I think it works a bit better as a separate one.

**BAZ**

It is dark, so dark. But I can see everything. My stomach growls, a reminder of my painful starvation.

I am dying. _Slowly_. That much is clear as the stale air closes in around me.

Eventually, it gets harder to breathe. _It is only a matter of time_ , I think. I close my eyes, trying to burn new images into my brain instead of the oak panels of my tomb.

Bronze curls.

Sugared kisses on soft lips.

When I finally hear his voice, it's like liquid honey pours into the space around me. Thick and warm.

 _Simon_.

My voice catches, raw against my throat. I call his name as he cast spells against my capturers. Fucking numpties. And then there is Simon, lifting the lid from my prison, eyes and hands urgently searching me, checking that I am whole. Tears form in my eyes as my chest swells. 

He cares. He loves me.

“Baz.”

“Simon,” I whisper.

He grins, helping me to my feet, his skin burning against my own.

I think about how lucky I am.

How _hungry_ I am.

_No._

How _delicious_ he always smells.

_No._

A taste. That's it.

_No._

_I need this._

_I deserve this._

_Yes._

I deserve Simon fucking Snow.

"Baz?" He says again. This time hesitant as I stare at him. I pounce, ignoring the fear flashing in his eyes as I hold his arms down, pressing his back to my chest. I roughly shove his head to the side.

He's making this so easy. 

“Please. Baz.” It is a whisper on deaf ears. Urgent and pleading. Begging for me to have control. I don’t want to be in control. I want sinking fangs, warm blood, and relief.

“ _Baz_." His voice starts to fade, a rattling in his breathing. I wrap one hand around his waist. He takes my hand in his own and squeezes weakly.

His pulse starts to wane.

This is everything I thought it would be.

_I deserve this._

When I let go of him, he slumps to the ground. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I just watched the life drain from Simon Snow’s eyes.

And I don't feel the hallows of guilt or the blood sloshing grossly in my stomach until well after I start to scream. 

**SIMON**

I wake to the sound of Baz’s nightmare. His breathing deepens, and he twists in his sleep, trying to escape the weight of whatever is haunting him tonight. I try to whisper in the dark. My voice still refuses to work. 

I gently touch his side. He is more fitful now. Whimpering. I focus all my effort on propping myself up. I wince and grunt in pain. From my new angle I grab onto his shoulder and shake as hard as my own tender muscles will allow.

Still nothing.

I sigh. Exasperated at my own uselessness. I am not thinking about anything besides waking Baz up as I roll onto him. I press my entire body weight against his chest, my mouth firmly seeking out his own.

**BAZ**

I wake with the weight of Simon on me and the familiar feeling of his kiss. I almost throw him to the floor before I remember his battered body.

“Snow?” I murmur against his mouth.

He rolls off of me and onto his side. I move to face him and grimace. The dark circles under his eyes stand out against his golden skin, a little less luminous than usual. But I can still count every mole and freckle scattered across his nose and his cheeks. I kiss one just over his left eye.

“Snow,” I whisper again. He shifts into me with half a grunt. “You know you aren’t as light as your name implies, right?”

I can still feel where his weight was pressed against my chest. I wait for his quip back, but all I get is a rasp against his lips. _Oh. I forgot._

He rolls away from me and groans as he tries to sit up. I make a move to help him but he nudges my hands away. Once he is sitting he reaches over to turn on the light, pain filling his face. It is another nightmare entirely for me to watch.

I feel myself relax in the light. Even though I can see clearly in the dark, I haven’t been comfortable in it since the capture. I don't even bothering turning off the lights unless I have Simon curled up beside me.

“Hmph,” he is straining to say something. I grab for my phone and open a blank note. He nods triumphantly when I hold the phone out for him. He concentrates on typing, his nose wrinkled. I focus on working the wrinkles out with my lips. Gentle kisses, exhaling against his skin. It's like I'm hoping it will heal him, in however small a way. 

Finally, he holds the phone out for me to read. _Nightmare?_

“Crowley, did it seriously take you five minutes to type a single word?” I plant another kiss to his forehead. He pushes at me and rolls his eyes before lifting his shoulders as if to say: _well?_

I know he understands nightmares, how real they can feel. But it doesn’t make it any easier for me to talk about them.

He frowns and gestures with his hands. I sigh. “Yes. It was the usual one, about the coffin.” He reaches his hand to my face, gently touching my temple. 

He takes my phone back and starts typing again. _Tell me about it?_

I shake my head. “Not tonight.” He nods his head and pulls me towards him. I let myself be pulled into his lap as he straightens his legs out.

Somehow, after everything he has been through in the last twenty-four hours, I don’t think he wants to hear that this time in my nightmare _he_ saved me, that _he_ pulled me from the darkness. And I thanked him by draining every last drop of blood from his veins. Worst of all, I don’t think he wants to hear how I enjoyed it. How for several terrible moments it didn’t feel like a nightmare at all.

I fall asleep again with him running his hands gently through my hair.


	9. When the magical fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting so far! I hope you are enjoying.
> 
> Warning, there is a bit of violence in this chapter. And I promise some more happy Simon and Baz is coming up!

**SIMON**

I finally got my voice back. Three excruciating days later it returned to me, raspy and raw. Baz told me it was the best three days of his life. I promptly threw my shoe at him.

If I wear a turtleneck you can’t even notice the bruises and marks still healing on my skin.  I am still not really sure what happened. Baz and Penny think I was spelled, but I just don’t understand why. I am not the Chosen One anymore, I thought my days of being a target were over.

It's a beautiful day, bright and sunny, with a bit of chill in the air. It's a nice day for walking, even though my legs are less than thrilled at what they are deeming unnecessary strain.

Penny bumps my shoulder as we walk, telling me her latest theories on chemistry and magic. Evidently, neither Baz nor Penny thought I was fit enough to leave the flat on my own. They were, of course, quite right. I just couldn't stand the thought of another day stuck inside. 

I nearly collapse in the doorway of my favourite cafe. Both from relief and exhaustion. Penny shoots me a worried glance but I shrug her off. I righten myself and look around the crowded room. It's so nice to be in the Normal world again. The familiar scent of espresso and butter greet us as we make our way through chattering tables. I can almost feel my stomach shout in anticipation. It has been far too long since I have had a proper meal.

“Do you want to eat here and then bring something back for Baz?” Penny asks as I slide into a booth near a window.

“I think that sounds perfect,” I tell her. She smiles at me. A _real_ smile. I think this is nice for her too. Penny is constantly being dragged into my shit.

Her eyes scan over me quickly as I sink into the worn leather. Great snakes, it feels so good to sit. “I’ll order then? The usual?” I smile at her. I could kiss her right now. She can read every single move of my body, every expression that crosses my face. She can tell the walk here has taken more out of me than I care to admit.

“Yes, please.” I close my eyes, letting the sun wash over my face. I feel normal again, a feeling I've grown rather fond of.

“Excuse me?” I hear someone say. I open my eyes, squinting against the sun. All I can see is yellow. I lift my hand to shield my face and wince. A pale face comes into focus, smirking, almost like they are enjoying my grimace. And then I realize who I am looking at— Baz's admirer. 

“What?" I say irritably. I really don’t have the energy to try and force my way through polite chit chat. Words don't agree with me when I'm at my best, and right now I'm not even close to my best. It would take way too much effort to try to speak clearly, without stumbling or stuttering (I hate stuttering in front of strangers). Plus, I'm  _really_ not in the mood to be polite to some bloke that wants to bone  _my_ boyfriend. I look back down and open a menu, hoping he will get the hint.

“I'm Roman.” He persists, extending his hand for me.

I sigh and look back up. Merlin, that _hair_. Baz is ridiculous if he thinks this guy isn't creepy.

“Great,” I say rudely, raising my eyebrow instead of taking his hand.

He drops it and then inches closer to the table.  “I think we have a class together at the University.”

“Maybe. Look, I...I'm rather busy...sorry... I just...it's, uhh, n-not a g-great day.”

I blush fiercely and drop my head. _This_ is exactly why I didn't want to talk to him.

"I just thought I should say hello.”

“Okay."

It's as dismissive as I can manage. Most people would have received the hint, or at least called me an arsehole by this point.

“Oh, dear. I thought this would go better. You see, I'm very interested in you...”

Something deep in the pit of my stomach clenches. A reflex somewhere kicks in. When I look back up he's grinning, and I swear there is a noticeable point on his eyeteeth.

**ROMAN**

His disinterest in me is marvelous. I wasn’t prepared for this; I was prepared for yammering, for a golden retriever eager to please, for him to be polite— to all but invite me to be his friend. This will make everything so much more _fun!_

**PENNY**

I order six cheese toasties, four lemon scones, and two mochas— regular mochas, not the disgusting version Baz is always drinking. As I wait, I flip through the stack of papers on the counter (Normal politics are a riot). I'm reading about the latest scandal when I hear a snippet of Simon’s voice carry across the room. He sounds irritated.

 _Who on earth is he talking to?_ Surely Baz hasn’t called to check in already.

I glance over and see Simon first, visibly pissed off, his body language guarded.  (Oh Merlin, please let him actually be talking to _someone_ and not muttering his spells.)

 _No_.

Air catches in my throat. I take it back. Let him mutter. I see a shock of yellow hair lean towards Simon. The _exact_  yellow hair Baz described. I start to panic _,_ already dialing Baz's number. I let the line ring twice and then I hang up.

 _Idiot,_ I hiss to myself. If he is anything like Baz he will be able to hear me on the phone. Instead, I open a new message and furiously type out a text.

**SIMON**

He - Roman, or whatever he said his name was - won't shut up. I glance over to Penny for help but her face is buried in her phone, jamming at it intensely, no doubt texting Micah. I look down, hoping he will just disappear. He keeps rambling about the other week, when I shouted at him down the hall.

"—I hope it didn't seem terribly creepy of me."

I snort loudly. “Here's a tip,” I interject. “Keep your bloody eyes off of someone’s boyfriend.” I keep my eyes down, my voice even. I focus all my energy on not stammering (people don't take you seriously if you do). He steps closer to me, leaning his elbows on the table. An involuntarily shudder sweeps through my body as he silently watches me.

When I look up, Roman winks. “I swear, I wasn’t looking at _him.”_

I can feel my face flush. Something is wrong. This. Him. Something.  He stays where he is, leaning slightly closer. My stomach drops again because he is staring at me the way I swore he was looking at Baz. Devour. That was the exact word I used to describe the look on his face.

He said he was interested in _me._

_Oh..._

I feel sick as I finally start to work out what I missed. 

**BAZ**

I find Normal law fascinating. I decided to only study part time for my first term in university, but my one law course has made me entirely rethink my future. I lean upside down, my case law textbook held high over my head, not even caring that I’m going to soon rival Bunce for inane chatter on a topic no one else cares about.

Afantasy of my own law firm, _Pitch and Associates,_ is running though my head. I wonder if father will be upset if I leave out the Grimm? Maybe keeping both names would be agreeable. Besides, I might be forced to hire Dev one day. Or perhaps Mordelia will put that wicked streak in her to good use and want to join forces. Then we could be _Pitch, Grimm and Associates_.  

I ignore my phone buzzing in my pocket as I seriously consider the merits of both names. It's likely just Fiona, and I already know how a conversation with her will go:

“Have you slept with the Chosen One yet?”

“No.”

“Why the bloody hell not? Don’t tell me you're waiting for marriage?”

“That isn’t why. I'm not talking about this with you.”

“Hell, if you won’t... I will.”

“That's disgusting. He's more than half your age.”

I figure _that_  particular conversation can wait.

Besides, I am secretly enjoying the quiet of Penny and Simon’s flat. I can feel my thoughts gather coherently for the first time in weeks. Not that I am blaming either of them, but when Simon is here I can’t focus on anything but the bruises on his skin.

Penny promised to make a list, like we did with the holes, and my mother's death, so we can finally figure out what the fuck happened. But neither of us has been willing to leave Simon’s side much lately. Not even to make a list. I told her about the vampire with yellow hair. How I was sure I saw him under Simon’s window. She almost told Simon, before I shot her a look. He doesn’t need to know that he is being hunted. Not yet. Not now.

My phone buzzes again, and again, and _again_. Crowley, she is persistent today. I curse under my breath as I pull out my phone. My chest tightens when I see Penny’s name in my notifications. Penny and I don’t just text to say “hello”. We text when there is a point, when something is wrong, when she needs my help. When Simon is in trouble.

_BAZ. He is here. The vampire._

_It must be him, how many vampires have yellow hair?_

_Baz. He is talking to Simon._

_Simon looks really uncomfortable._

_What do I do?_

_I think you should be here._

_Baz?_

_Help._

I am out the door before I finish reading her last message. 

**SIMON**

“I think you should probably leave," I say, with as much confidence as I can muster.

Roman grins at me. “I think I would rather not. You haven’t even told me your name.”

I start to panic. “Edward," I mumble.

He leans towards my ear and I remind myself to breathe. Penny finally looks up, her mouth opens, and I see her adjust her ring on her finger. I silently shake my head at her. I don’t know what he is about to do, but I don’t want Penny involved.

“Liar,” he hisses. His breath is cool against my skin. I can feel my muscles twitch and contract, like they used to when I was inadvertently calling for my magic. Of course, nothing happens now, just the shaking of my hands. 

I set my chin and speak louder. I try to carefully sound out each word. Slow. Control. I think of Baz. How he can make anything sound like a command. ( Heck, he can make people back down just by bloody looking at them.) "I said, I think you should leave _now_.”

I wait for the familiar whirl and vibration that comes from speaking magical words. I used to speak with magic accidentally all the time. I could make **_go away_**  into a spell. Something I hated at the time, but could really use right now. 

Roman laughs, ignoring me as he slides into the seat beside me. “And I said, I think I would rather not.”

**BAZ**

I run as fast as I can. The café that Simon loves isn’t far. I consider using magic to get there, but I don’t want to waste a single drop.

**ROMAN**

He smells even more delightful than last time, like there is something besides blood turning in his veins. _Power. Magic. Blood._ It's all the same. A lure. Something to feast on. Something fit for demons and monsters...and those of us that want to get ahead in the world. I feel exhilarated as I take a deep breath close to his neck.

I don’t plan on killing him today. That would be too easy, and I am not the only one invested in draining his blood.

Besides, I know his vampire is coming. I can smell him already, gaining fast. All I need to do is sit and wait... and then I can finally start to play. 

**SIMON**

I clench my fists tight to my side. I don’t really know what to do. I'm stuck, and he knows I am. I need a solution.

_Flip the table?_

_No, stupid idea._

_Push him to the ground and just step over him?_

_Likely not going to be that easy._

I run through countless scenarios and options in my head. I can’t rely on just going off anymore, I need to think this through.

The glint of metal catches my eye on the table.

_Maybe?_

_Why not._

Roman stretches out a hand to me, and I feel my blood go cold as he trails his fingers down my face. 

My stomach turns uncomfortably. 

“You’re very beautiful.” He purrs into my ear.  “No wonder your _boyfriend_ is so smitten. I get it. I really do.”

“Get your fucking hand off of me.” It comes out louder and shakier than I anticipate. A few people begin to look at us.

“Hush, dear. You're causing a scene, wouldn’t want someone to come over to us, to get in the way, to get _hurt_.” He takes one of my curls and twirls it in his hand. I grit my teeth. He sounds like a snake that swallowed a cat. A hiss and a purr.

I feel bile gather in the base of my throat. 

**PENNY**

He won’t stop touching Simon. _Where the fuck is Baz?_ I start to get desperate. I look to Simon, trying to catch his eye. When I finally do he silently mouths _get everyone out._  

I ignore the paleness to his skin, the furrow to his brow as he bites down on his lip. I don't want to think about the conversation he is having right now.  

I can feel my magic bubbling in my fingers. I have to be smart about getting people out of here. I can’t just bloody well start yelling spells in front of a bunch of Normals.

I find a secluded-ish corner and hold a newspaper in front of my face. I speak quietly but clear.   **"Closing time,”** I whisper. **"Nothing to see here.”** The few people closest to me look confused as they turn mid-conversation and walk out the door.

It's a start. I still have what seems like an impossible number of people to spell on my own though.

I feel a pang as I think of Agatha. 

**SIMON**

He won’t stop staring at me, and I refuse to look away, to give him any satisfaction in my discomfort. I _refuse_ to be weak.

“I promise it won’t hurt," he purrs at me.

I have no idea what he is talking about.

I shrug. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind if it did.”  Everything inside me itches with the urge to destroy and also to vomit. I  _can't_ believe I just said that. I think it might work though, and I need to distract him.

I slowly inch my hand toward the fork on the table.

His lips curl into a terrifying smile. “Of course you wouldn’t, _pet.”_

 _You can do this,_ I tell myself _._

**PENNY**

I watch Simon carefully as I cast. His hand reaches quickly for something on the table, his lips moving as though he were casting his own spell.

I can’t hear either of them.

The vampire smirks, and I feel my stomach lurch.

Simon gives his best smile. And I do mean his best. It's the same one he once used to try and get free ice cream from a vendor that showed up at Watford in sixth year. Turns out it was actually a Goblin gang trying to infiltrate Watford's inner gates _and_ get to Simon. But, still. He smiled exactly like that, even though the vendor seemed a little twisted from the start. Like he knew the thing was evil but really wanted that fucking ice cream anyway. 

_What is he doing?_

I start to whisper a little louder as Simon drops his hands to his lap. 

**ROMAN**

How wonderful! I almost clap my hands. I really do appreciate when they try to banter and flirt their way out of danger. Perhaps that works on vampires like his boyfriend, but not me. Not vampires who respect the code. Who respect the diet.

**SIMON**

He grabs another strand of my hair and laughs softly.  I don't like how it sounds, but I notice he is momentarily distracted as he glances over his shoulder. I use this moment to drop my hands (and my newly acquired fork) into my lap.

Roman gives my hair a tight yank, for seemingly no reason. I hiss, and he looks back to me, like he's just remembered _I'm_ attached to my hair.

"Ready, dear?" He asks.

For what? I want to ask. I don't trust myself to speak though. 

I nod.  

_On the count of three._

_One…two…you can do this…three._

**BAZ**

I make it to the café, breathless and heart hammering in my chest. But I am here. I pause briefly. I don’t want to startle anyone, and I can tell I already look mental. My hair is wild against my face from running, my fangs are begging to be released, and I'm pretty sure I've stopped blinking.

I walk through the door, having to push past a few people slowly making their way outside. They don’t seem to notice as I shove my shoulders against them. I survey the room, making my plan. 

My eyes find Simon. It takes all of my control to not immediately lunge. The vampire has his finger wrapped in a bronze curl. _My bronze curls._ I growl. He slowly turns his head over his shoulder until he is looking right at me. He smirks, tugging on Simon's hair. I hiss before I can stop myself. I sound like an animal. Like a filthy fucking creature.

I can hear Bunce chanting incantations somewhere on my right. I don't have to turn my head far to see her standing guard across the café. She looks to me, widens her eyes and tilts her head to Simon. I nod and motion for her to stay where she is. She nods back, another wave of her magic fills the room.

I turn back to Simon. I try to figure out how I can get to him without causing the vampire to do anything impulsive. The one good thing is that he doesn't seem intent on killing Simon, at least not quickly. He would have done it already. I have a feeling he was waiting for me before making his move. Which means I  need to figure out how to play his game, and how I fit into it.

But, I’m too late. Because I didn't factor in Snow when surveying the situation, which is a rookie fucking mistake. I watch in absolute disbelief as Simon, my fucking idiotic and magic-less boyfriend, decides he can fight a vampire on his own.

**SIMON**

I throw my weight entirely into my left shoulder, bringing my arm up as high as I can before driving the fork into Roman’s thigh. I feel it sink, more easily than I had anticipated. I can tell I've caught him by surprise. He releases my hair with a yell of pain. I take my right arm and throw the hardest elbow I can manage to his nose. He kneels forward slightly, his hands desperately pulling at the fork in his leg.

I bought myself seconds. I slip under the table and crawl as fast as I can out the other side. I don’t have much time. I need to find Penny.

People are calmly walking out of the café like I didn’t just break someone’s nose. Penny must be spelling them. _Focus, Simon._ There are too many people streaming for the door, I push against the crowd,  but it feels like I can't move forward. I can't put enough space between us.

A growl, low and vicious, is released from behind me. I don't turn around. I can't. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. I say over and over. I will my legs to work. I manage to take a single step when something that can't be human grips onto my arm tightly. I know I'm about to break before it happens.

_How is he so fucking strong?_

I hear bone snap as my shoulder twists backward.

**BAZ**

I start moving toward Simon as soon as I see him raise his hand with a bloody fucking fork in it.

 _Seriously, Snow?_ _A fucking fork against a vampire. (Stupid,_ _glorious, fucking idiot.)_

I walk as quickly as I can, shoving against the crowd. No one even looks up when I hear Simon’s elbow connect with the vampire’s nose, the familiar crunch of broken bone echoing in the room. I know exactly what it feels like to have a broken nose at the hands of Simon Snow.

I cast a quick **_hurry_** ** _home_**  to try and clear out the cafe and my path to Simon. I make the spell weak. Bunce's magic should be enough to strengthen my words. I can feel my magic humming viciously against me, waiting for the right moment.

**PENNY**

I don't think there is a more unsettling sound in the entire world than Simon screaming.

I hate how many times I've heard this.

How many times he's had to make this exact sound.

It's pain in it's purest form. 

**BAZ**

Simon's scream causes a snarl to bubble into my throat. It's an automatic reaction. My Pavlovian response to his pain. How many times do I have to listen to him break?

I let the red wash of rage take over. The fire inside of me (metaphorically and magically speaking) bursts, angry and bright. It's all I need. I lunge, moving faster than I thought possible, grabbing at the vampire's jacket collar and pulling as hard as I can. He releases his grip on Simon, but I don't stop pulling. 

He catches my eye as we tumble to the ground. He smirks. It's the face of someone who thinks they have already won.

He's clearly never met me.

I smirk back.

**ROMAN**

I reach for the vampire’s pale throat as we fall to the ground. I smirk as I push my hands into his esophagus, his smooth, cold skin feels unusual under my fingers. It's been a very long time since I've played with one of our own like this. My jacket collar strains pleasurably against my own throat as I press my fingers deeper into his skin.

A neck for a neck isn’t it?

**SIMON**

_Baz? When did Baz get here?_

I collapse to my knees, my vision fading.

_I wonder if it ever hurt this much when I had my magic._

_Yes. Probably._

**PENNY**

I sprint to Simon, catching him around the waist as he crashes to the ground. 

"Simon!"

He slumps against me, but I can feel his chest heaving. He's breathing. He's alive.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are glossy.

“Simon,” I whisper. “I'm so sorry.”

He rests his head against my shoulder and grunts. His right arm is hanging limply at his side, the bone of his elbow clean through his skin. I need to help him, but my magic is fizzing weakly in my fingers. Broken bones take concentration, serious effort, and I just don’t have it in me.

**SIMON**

It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Simon?” Penny says. Her voice is quick, urgent. My brain starts to clear at the sound, and I realize I'm slumped against her. “Simon. I can’t fix this. Not properly... I...don't have enough." Her voice breaks as she takes a deep breath.

"It's all right, Pen. I'm fine," I lie.

"Liar," she whispers, half a laugh in her voice.

I smile. "I've been worse off."

I make an effort to stand.

"Wait, wait. I can... there's something I can try." Penny says, tapping me with her ring lightly. She notices me staring at Baz (wrestling a bloody fucking lunatic on the floor) and adds, "It's quick. Promise."

I nod.

She casts a clean wound spell. The skin around the bone of my elbow closes roughly in a jagged and scabbed line. It's not exactly a spell with finesse. But, Penny is true to her word, it's quick, and takes less concentration than a bone mending spell. It's draining to do any kind of medical spell. I vaguely remember learning the incantation in sixth year. Something about it being used mostly during times of revolution and war, when a quick fix is better than none.

“Penny, this is brilliant!" I rasp.

She smiles at me. “Of course it is. Now, let's get Baz and get the fuck out of here. _Please_.”

**BAZ**

Somehow the vampire manages to land on top of me, his weight sinking heavily against my chest. I sigh, more than a little irritated with myself. Not a good start.

"Oh dear," he whispers, crouching low to my ear. "I seem to have pinned you."

"Baz!" Simon shouts my name, and again, like a Pavlovian response I look to him. My eyes find him instantly, drawn to where they always naturally want to go.

He's hurt. But, he's standing. Of course. Typical Snow. He never stays down for long.

"Distracting, isn't he?" The vampire whispers. His fingers press deeper into my throat, his thighs squeezing at my ribs.

Simon goes to take a step forward, but I glare at him until he stops moving.

"Baz," he says, with his usual stubbornness (that I absolutely adore and hate all at once). He taps his nose and widens his eyes. He sends me a message.

I nearly smile.

My boyfriend. Always so unexpectedly clever.

I release my hold on the vampire and slam the heel of my palm up and into his already cracked nose. He lets go of me momentarily, reeling at the pain. It's enough, a second is all I need to drive my knee into his kidney and thrust my hips up and over to throw him off.

We reach our feet at the same time, facing each other, his face still stuck in a smirk.

"Not bad," he says.

I shrug, my wand already slipping to the edge of my sleeve. My magic is ready. More than ready. I can feel the dark magic that sleeps in my wand rattling, tempting me to call for it. Pitches have had dark magic in their blood for centuries. (Most families do if you look back far enough.)

"So, how shall we do this?" The vampire asks casually.

I'm panting, and so is he. We both have our fangs out, and for a terrifying moment I wonder if _this_ is what I look like, if this is like seeing my reflection.

**ROMAN**

“Should I introduce myself?” I hiss. The vampire-boy is breathless, staring at me like he is ready to murder.

“I'm not much for pleasantries," he sneers.

He's got a beautiful face.

I laugh. "The Pitch heir not for pleasantries? My, my. What would your father say?"

I smile as his face hardens.

"Yes," I whisper. "I know exactly who you are. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch."

"Actually, it's Baz," he says calmly, brushing the hair from his eyes.

"All right, Baz. Don't you want to know the name of the vampire about to kill you?"

He shrugs. "Like I said, I'm not much for pleasantries."

Marvelous. He's marvelous.

"Perhaps, then, you'd like to know the name of the vampire responsible for your boyfriend's death?"

He lifts a dark eyebrow at me. "Interesting," he says slowly, looking behind me. "He doesn't look dead. Still alive, love?" He asks, smirking as a raspy voice grunts in response.

I laugh again. "Careful, Baz. Let's not get cocky. He's alive because I _want_ him to be...for now. You should understand. It's so much better to play before eating. Dinner is completely wasted if there is no theatre involved.”

I turn, feasting my eyes on the golden boy. His arm is limp at his side and he appears to have another friend, short and fiery at his side. I can feel her magic pulsing from her.

More toys.

It must be my birthday.

I have a wicked grin as I purr. “Simon, my dear. I think you broke your arm.”

**SIMON**

He says my name through his _fangs._  I grow cold. _Of course._ It all makes sense. Well, actually none of it makes sense. But Roman being a vampire does. Baz likely already knew. _Why didn’t he just tell me?_ If I wasn’t currently resisting the urge to vomit I would be more annoyed, angry that no one thought it was important to say to me at any point: " _Oi, Simon, you know that guy from your class you thought fancied your boyfriend? Well, turns out he's a vampire and likely wants to kill you.”_

I glance past his shoulder to Baz. He looks wild. Unhinged. I instinctively step forward further to shield more of Penny. This is all my fault. Neither of them should be here.

**BAZ**

I grip my wand in my hand, the words for a nasty curse on the tip of my tongue.

The vampire starts to laugh. Manic and loud, the sound aching in my ears. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, _Bazzy._ ”

I hesitate, still gripping my wand. I can feel Simon staring at me.

“I must admit, I'm a little jealous. I figured you would be unstoppable— a mage  _and_ a vampire. I had to even the playing field, you understand.” He turns his body so he can see both myself, and Bunce and Simon at the same time. He lets his words hang in the air, a dramatic pause. He's baiting. I don't give in. I keep my expression blank as I stare at him.

He sighs. “Aren’t you going to ask me how? Go on then, ask ‘Why can’t I use my magic, Roman’— that is my name, by the way, not that you bothered to ask. I promise I tell a _great_ story.”

I plan on hexing that stupid fucking grin off his face— literally. My family has some terribly dark spells.

The room goes quiet except for the sounds of our breathing, mine is quick and deep. Simon is rasping, struggling through the pain of his arm. Bunce sounds hushed and worn-out. I focus on nothing but breathing as he delights in the suspense.

I'm ready to kill him.

Simon’s voice fills the room instead. It's rough and shaky, but brave. _Always so fucking brave._ “Tell us,” he demands.

“Thank you, _Simon,"_ Roman purrs, clearly pleased to have an audience.

He clears his throat. “As I was saying, I know your boyfriend is magical.” He makes a wide sweeping gesture at me, flicking his wrists. “At first I thought it would make matters even more difficult. But then I realized, it was really just a new challenge for me.”

Crowley, he wasn't joking. He is telling a fucking story, complete with arm and hand gestures.

“Get to the fucking point,” I snap at him.

**ROMAN**

So rude. People never appreciate a good story anymore. “My _point_ is that I got someone to cast **anything you can do, I can do better**. It should last -" I look down to my wrist as though checking a watch- "another three hours at least. Give or take a few minutes. Never know whose time a spell is synced on."

"And what the bloody hell does that mean?” Baz hisses, his features twisting as he tries to make sense of what I've just said.

I grin. "Surely you, _the great_ _Baz Pitch,_ know the spell?"

His jaw twitches. I can tell he's furious, that his fangs are moments away from becoming uncontrollable. I know what that's like. To be so angry you can't do anything but spit and foam around the sharp teeth filling your mouth. It's ugly. A stain to our condition.

It would be a marvelous sight for Simon to see.

"Tsk tsk. Watford education appears to have failed you. Poor little oblivious magelings," I sing. 

“Watford taught us how to kill the likes of you,” Simon spits at me, stepping forward again. His voice is sharp and bitter. A lovely sound. So different from the stammering I've witnessed.

I grin. “All right, all right. I'll tell _you_ , but only because you're so pretty." I make a move to saunter closer to Simon, but Baz grips my wrist.

"Stay," he commands.

"Yes, your highness," I laugh, sweeping into a deep bow. "Simon, _love_ ," I start. Baz grips my arm tighter. "Anything you cast on me, will also bounce back and hit you— likely harder, I'm not actually sure on the specifics.”

"That isn’t how that spell works. That isn’t even possible," the girl beside Simon interjects. 

She's right, it isn't how the spell _traditionally_ works. But, I like to bend traditions. I grin. “Oh, but it is possible! Would you like to try?” I wink at her, and then laugh more as Simon steps closer to me, his jaw hard, and his eyes set on me like steel.

"Oh, Bazzy. Is it always this easy with him?" I whisper quietly. So quietly only a vampire could hear.

**BAZ**

_Stop it, Snow.  
_

Bloody idiot. He keeps stepping closer to Roman, which is exactly what he wants. I send Snow a mental warning, trying to telepathically connect. Shouldn’t vampires be able to do this? 

I pull out my wand, placing it to Roman's chest. I refuse to let go of his wrist. 

“A taker!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together like a delighted child.

“Baz— don't. We don't. It might. Just. Don’t be an idiot.” I can hear the worry in Simon's voice, clouding my brain. My twisted insides are thrilled that he's worried about me. It's distracting.

“Shut up, _Snow_.”

I let my magic flow out of me. " ** _Head over heels,_ ” **I cast. It's a simple spell that won't hurt if it comes back. It used to be a personal favourite of mine with Snow. There was always something so satisfying in making him fall hopelessly and endearingly to his arse.

I watch Roman’s feet come out from under him, hitting the floor in an elegant sweep of his legs.

He smirks.

My own legs buckle.

 _Fuck_. 

**ROMAN**

I can’t stop laughing at their faces, all of their faces. How the magical have fallen— literally in the case of the vampire.

**BAZ**

I hate his laugh. I feel it crawling through my brain and my skin starts to sting. _Fuck_. I can’t think. I just want him to stop fucking laughing. I get back on my feet and he won’t stop. He keels over, slapping his thighs excessively.

I glance over at Bunce and Simon. They both look dreadfully ill.

 _Ignore them. They're fine. Focus_.

I shut out everything and do the one thing I know I can. I embrace the fire within me, the burning that is always twisting around, causing mild panic if I think about it for too long.

I ignite a blue flame in my hand.

Roman finally stops laughing.

I smell smoke, which is unusual. Hopefully I haven't accidentally set something on fire behind me.

I feel a warm hand on my forearm.

"Baz, what... this is.. _stop_."

"Go away, Snow." I say, coldly. He doesn’t understand, and I don't have the time to make him.

“Baz, put that fucking thing out,” he growls.

I turn to glare at him.

_Stop it. You’re distracting me._

“I'm serious. Stop it. You’re not doing this.”

_Too late._

He tugs on my arm.

"Snow. Don't make me do something I'll regret."

"No. You fucking. No. Fuck. Baz. You're such a—"

I don't let him finish. I send him flying to the other side of the room with a flick of my wrist. 

Roman stares at me like _I'm_ the mental one. I smirk, letting my fire dance around both of my hands. 

Maybe I am the mental one.

**SIMON**

I stand quickly, ignoring the new wave of pain in my shoulder.

Fucking tosser.

He'll pay for this. I'm going to punch him right in his stupid, pretty face. Or bite him. The arrogant, nightmare of a fucking boyfriend.

Baz walks straight for Roman, his flame building between his palms, a deadly look on his face.

“Jesus Christ, Baz. _Stop_. Not this, put it out! Penny!” I shout. “Penny, do something!”

“I'm...I _tried,_ Simon _._ None of my extinguishing spells are working."

Because of me, I think. She wasted her magic on me. And here I am useless and without magic.

No. Not useless.

I swallow my guilt.

I can fix this.

Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck magic.

**ROMAN**

"Your boyfriend is calling you," I say.

"Shut your fucking mouth."

"It's not nice to ignore someone you love, Bazzy. I would _never_ ignore him."

A blue flame bursts from his hands, landing by my feet. I grin.

Let's play chicken, vamp.

**SIMON**

_Baz._

He is playing with fire. His fire, I should clarify _,_ letting it dance across his palms and twist around his arms. I've seen him do this a million times. Normally, his control of the flames is hauntingly beautiful, hypnotic even, like the best type of magic show.

But right now it is enraging.

 _He_ is enraging.

If he won't listen, I'll make him. I sprint toward him.

Baz's features drop. He knows what I'm about to do. He always knows. He lets the flame in his right hand go out, and then he points his wand toward me.

_No._

_No._

_You can't._

_No._

I lunge and throw my good shoulder into Roman.

**BAZ**

I fix my wand on Simon. The idiot has never taken advantage of sitting on the sidelines. I should have known better.

I barely flick my wrist. **" _Stand your ground,_ " **I mutter. **  
**

I feel my magic, the grease-burn of it, flow out of me.

Only...

Simon doesn't stop moving.

I frown, and Roman giggles.

"Oh, isn't he something else. So lovely. Did you know he could do that?"

I give him a curious glance.

"Ah, you didn't, did you?"

Simon crashes in front of me. A blur of gold and bronze.

He smells smoky, green and earthy. Exactly like he used to. Or maybe I'm remembering the smell from the White Chapel. How it felt to walk into a room where Simon was pouring out everything he had inside of him.

I stumble backward from the force as Simon takes Roman to the ground. 

I didn't think he could still hit so hard.

**SIMON**

We hit the ground, but neither of us are on fire. I smell smoke and for one terrifying moment think that maybe it's Baz, that maybe I somehow knocked his burning palm into him. Merlin and Morgana. That _could_ have happened. 

Fuck. I'm always so fucking careless.

"Baz," I shout, urgently, as Roman struggles beneath me. 

"Crowley, Snow. You're still a fucking bull I see." I relax slightly at the sound of his voice, _even_ if he is insulting me. It's just good to hear right now.

Roman draws my attention back as he starts to hum. “You’re making this too easy, love,” he whispers. 

“Then let me make it a little harder,” I spit at him.

I lift my arm and throw a punch towards his nose. He catches my wrist moments before I connect and drives my fist into the table behind us. I feel the pain radiate through my knuckles and into my shoulder.

Cold arms wrap around my waist, pulling me back. “Simon, you fucking idiot," Baz whispers harshly. "Simon, get off of him. This is what he wants."

I kick my legs back, trying to let Baz pull me away.

"Not so fast, love," Roman says. He grasps my wrist tighter and pulls me forward.

"Let him go!" Baz snaps.

"Can't."

"Simon!" Penny comes rushing for us.

Baz hisses, yanking on my waist harder. "Not you too, Bunce. Stay back. Think of some magic for Crowley's sake, we're bloody top class mages!"

I think he's trying to be motivational. Hard to tell with Baz.

I feel like a rag doll. As usual I haven’t thought this through. I just go for the kill and hope for the best. That is always my strategy. I still smell smoke, and my skin feels like it is sparking, ready to catch fire.

My anger is caught in my throat. I want Roman to die. I can feel him breathing beneath me, and I hate that he is still able to. I've never wanted someone to die before.

No. Not _someone_. 

A vampire. A monster, trying to kill us.

He is _nothing_ like Baz.

**ROMAN**

The lovely Simon Snow doesn't seem to realize his knuckles are bleeding right in front of my face. Crimson drops rolling luxuriously down his skin. He really isn't the brightest.

It would be just like catching falling snowflakes. And— oh, how delicious he smells. Just a small taste. I think I deserve that. After all this work. 

I catch Bazzy's eye. He knows exactly what I am thinking. Clever little vamp.

I smirk.

Simon looks murderous, struggling between us, wanting desperately to hit me again. I can taste how desperately he wants it. Blood-lust. It's not just for vampires. _The drama. I love it!_

I pull his knuckles closer to my face, towards my lips. Poor, poor idiot. 

Bazzy hisses, Simon's body jerking as he pulls even harder.  "Simon! Move. Move. Don't you fucking dare, you filthy fucking—"

Blood touches my tongue, staining my lips.

"Lovely," I whisper as I drag my tongue across the cuts on Simon's knuckles.

I let the warm, thick liquid pool in my mouth. He tastes like deep caramels and gold. I purr against his skin, letting his blood smear across my face.

He goes limp. He no longer looks murderous. 

I start to laugh.

**SIMON**

I vomit. All down the front of myself and onto Roman beneath me. 

Baz pulls me away, finally, gently.

I vomit on the floor.

It just won’t stop.

"You're all right, love. It's fine. It's fine."

I don't know if he's reassuring me or himself.

**BAZ**

I allow myself two seconds to ensure Simon is okay, and then I dive, letting my fangs sink into the first flesh I find. I’ve never bitten a person. ( I don’t technically count vampires as people, but our flesh is similar enough.) I don’t know what to expect, but I am surprised at how easy my fangs slip into him. It isn’t like when I drink blood. I don’t try to draw a drop from him, I just bite and then I rip my head back. I let whatever flesh I can come with me.

Roman screams, and then laughs, and then screams more. He's certifiably insane. I go to bite again, but he holds out his hand, inches from my face. My first instinct is to snap his hand back, or to tear his fingers clean off, but I stop as red fingers point at me.

“Don’t you want to try some?” He sounds drunk. I curl away. Simon’s blood, bright and red, is smeared across his skin.

My head starts to pound.

 _Simon’s_ blood.

It's all I can smell.

“I promise it will be the most delicious thing you have ever tried," he whispers. “Like drinking the sun itself.” 

I hiss.

I can’t think. It smells like cinnamon, and apples, and smoke. I don’t want his blood. Not like this. I want to reach over to Simon instead, take his bleeding hand and have him offer it to me. A slow lick over his bruises and cuts. I would be gentle. I would make it feel nice for him. He would... _Fuck_. No. That's not right either. I don't want that. I don't want his blood.

At all.

I don't.

I don't.

I repeat the words, over and over, shaking my head manically.

Roman giggles, a strange and sickening sound. He knows what I want to do.

I hate myself for it. 

He knows that too.

**PENNY**

Everything is a mess.

Simon is bleeding, dry heaving in the corner.

Baz looks like a bloody lunatic, shaking his head like a rabid dog.

Roman is laughing like this is the most fun he's ever had.

Boys.

Vampires.

Mages.

And all of us useless messes. Coming undone at the seams.

Baz whines, and I realize that Simon's blood is too much for him. I can't have him regress. We've made progress on the _I'm not a monster_ front. This. It will set him back. I need to do something. Anything. Exhaustion be dammed. 

When I finally remember an old story about ogres and trolls from my childhood I'm furious I didn't think of it sooner. It's so simple. Fairy Tales have some of the best inspiration for clever magic.

I adjust my ring and focus on Roman as I whisper the incantation: **" _To bind, and to keep. No more mischief shall you speak.”_**

Seconds later I feel ropes begin to curl around me.

I can’t move from the shoulders down.

I can’t speak.

But neither can he.

**BAZ**

I hear Penny cast a spell and for a moment I think she has gone rogue. But when I see the ropes begin to bind Roman, hysterical on the floor and still offering me Simon’s blood, I remember how much smarter she is than all of us. Roman’s laugh is cut off as the last of the ropes set in, and I watch his face twist in confusion as he tries to speak.

 _No more mischief shall you speak_.

I don’t say another word. I stand, and for the first time in my life, I walk to Bunce to hug her. Obviously, she can’t hug me back. But she is so fucking brilliant. I could literally kiss her right now.

I feel my head start to clear, away from the smell of Simon’s blood.

The moment of clarity is short lived.

My body tenses again as I hear a groan behind me. I turn to see Simon on his knees, one hand on the ground, the other tucked into his chest, trying to crawl.

He never stays down.

**SIMON**

Everything hurts. I can barely move, but I am still so angry. I glance at Penny and Baz, feeling momentarily calm watching them together.

I frown as I turn back to Roman. He tried to kill them. My family.

That's not okay.

I start crawling, grunting and sweating from the effort.

"Simon," Baz calls. I ignore him. "Leave him," Baz whispers, his fingers brushing my cheek.

I shake my head.

“Prop him up for me,” I demand. My voice comes out unstable, not at all how I want it to sound.

“What?”

“Just _fucking_ do it," I growl.

Baz glances at me, and I know how I must look. I feel crazy. I feel undone, like this bubbling volcano of rage inside of me is threatening to spill over. I would have already killed us all if I had my magic— I would have exploded, my control gone. It would have happened the second Roman licked my bleeding knuckles.

Baz hesitates for a moment, but he does what I ask. He grabs Roman by the shoulders and props him against a table. It's an awkward effort.

“Simon?”

 _Sorry_.

I stand and grab Roman’s stupid fucking yellow hair. I grip as tight as I can with my good hand. I take a small step back, letting his head move forward with me. Everything goes red as I slam his skull as hard as I can against the table. I don’t stop until I watch the light leave his eyes.

**BAZ**

Simon collapses toward me, like his body knew I would catch him.

He starts to sob; tears, vomit, and blood smearing across my jumper as I hold him.

Crowley, I just watched him kill a vampire. (Should this be upsetting to me? It isn't. I think I'm impressed... which I think speaks volumes to my level of disturbed.) 

“Baz. I'm sorry. I just. I had to. I'm sorry.” He's struggling to speak.

He should know he doesn’t need to apologize. I press kisses into his hair and try to wipe the tears from his face. I focus on his blue eyes, trying to ignore the blood he is leaving all over me, the heartbreaking shaking of his entire body. I want to tell him how desperately I love him, but it doesn't seem like the time. (Or maybe it is the right time. Maybe a confession would keep him from breaking even more.)

I press a kiss against his lips instead. I grab my wand and keep my lips pressed against his as I softly sing a calming spell— a lullaby to sooth. I don't stop until I hear his sobs ease, his cries turn into hiccups, and his breathing even out. When I look at him again he seems better, he meets my gaze and nods his head.

“Come on, love,” I whisper, “we're going home.”

I walk us over to Penny and pick her up, throwing her over my shoulder. Simon leans heavily into my other side. I don’t know how I manage, but I walk us home. I use my magic to cloak us, so we can walk uninterrupted, three broken pieces, bumping together in the only place we fit anymore.

**PENNY**

I still can’t talk. I’ve been laying on the couch for three hours, just waiting for my magic to fade. I refused to let Baz help me. I wanted him to save his magic for Simon’s elbow. All I needed to do was shake my head and he understood. He eventually managed to get the bone back in place, but Simon doesn’t look any better. He is a crumpled heap on the floor beside me. His head is laying against the couch, right near my own.

I can see every flicker of pain across his face, and I can't think of a single way to soothe him.

Baz is on the phone to his Aunt Fiona, since someone needs to clean up our mess at the café. None of us are exactly in prime condition at the moment.

Baz has been bloody brilliant.

I think I would be in love with him after tonight in another universe.


	10. A new normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz have a lovely moment in the snow :)

  **PENNY**

The last month has been crazy. I feel like I am back at Watford, back to having the exhaustion of constantly needing to be alert clouding my brain. It is getting to the point where I might just pull an Agatha and run away. Her Instagram is filled with beach shots and new friends, friends who aren’t destined to die at the hand of a dragon, or vampire, or magician. Her life is completely normal.

I look over from the kitchen table as Simon grunts in his sleep. He was passed out on the couch when I got home half an hour ago. An episode of  _Veronica Mars_  is still playing on the television. It's not unusual for me to find him asleep on the couch, half-way through an episode, when I get home from classes. He doesn't have much energy at the moment, and he's been placed on unofficial medical house arrest by Baz. There is also the unspoken fact that someone is clearly hunting him.  It's not exactly smart for him to be wandering around London on his own at the moment. 

I get up to turn off the television. I can only reasonably watch so much sleuthing before my brain is going to melt. I pick up the blanket that has fallen on the floor and wrap it around him. I resist the urge to smooth his hair away from his face. He looks like a little kid when he sleeps.

I walk back to the kitchen and cast a **_some like it hot_** on the kettle. I feel my phone ding against me. Surprisingly, it is Agatha.

_P, I think I'm going to be home for Christmas. Hoping for a visit. Xo_

I frown at the screen. Since when am I _P_?

I'm annoyed at the breezy way she thinks she can float in and out of my life. Like it doesn't matter. Like it's all inconsequential. To be fair, I haven’t told her about the vampire yet, so she doesn't actually know she's coming across as vapid. Although, to be fair on that point, we don’t _really_ talk anymore.

Our friendship has turned into a series of generic conversation pieces.

_How are you?_

_How is school?_

_How is Simon?_

_How is California?_

Our responses are even more mundane.

_Good._

_Fine._

_Okay._

_Sunny._

I type back a quick reply.

_Sounds great! P._

I can’t imagine her visiting our flat at Christmas. I picture her hair; beautiful, blonde, and sun-kissed, with her perfect smile and glowing skin. She would be too much in our small flat. Too much shiny and bright and happy. It would be a complete contradiction to the dark circles permanently fixed under my eyes, the endless scars covering most of Simon’s body, and the constant frown of Baz’s lips. She wouldn’t fit anymore. She wouldn’t seem real.

If I am being honest, I really think Agatha was onto something with leaving. But of course, I wouldn’t have left everyone behind. That is what bothers me the most. That Simon and I, and probably even Baz, would have laid down our lives to protect Agatha, and she just left— left when we all needed her. If I left I would take Simon with me, which means I would also be taking Baz. Oddly, the thought is comforting. We are a trio. You don’t get one of us anymore. I wouldn’t give up either of them, even if it meant I could have Agatha’s life. Normal is overrate anyway— just ask Simon.

I finish making my tea and sit back at the kitchen table with my laptop. I've been trying to research Roman. Unfortunately, there isn’t a record of vampires the same way there is magicians, so I am pulling at a lot of loose ends.

Baz wants me to look through the regular papers. When I asked him why he looked at me like I was naïve. “For poorly covered up mass killings, likely blamed on animals. Have you even seen _Twilight_ , Bunce? Or the _Vampire Diaries_?” I haven’t worked up the courage to search yet.

So far our list of what we know is very limited. Between Baz and I going back to classes, Simon not going back to class, and just the general shit of our lives, we haven’t had much time to process. Or to heal.

But we do have a list posted to our fridge of things we have managed to figure out thus far, because we are basically an episode of _Veronica Mars._ We have more questions than answers. Our biggest question still is how can you make someone feel like they have been bitten by a vampire without turning them? I have been pouring through the spell books my family owns and I haven’t found anything close. Mostly just references to how dark creatures, or their attacks, can’t be replicated using pure magic. Which again, just leaves us with more questions.

Baz is positive it is dark magic, and his family would know a lot more about that than I would. The Pitches used to be notorious for their dealings in dark magic. He has promised to bring back a few books when he visits at Christmas. But, I don’t think he is going to find anything. You don’t just write down a spell that causes vampire bites. It would be too risky. It falls into the category of sadistic magic, and not many families would want their name attached to the label.

I asked Simon what it felt like when he was cursed. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to talk about it in front of Baz. I am not sure why I asked, I thought it might help.

Baz had rolled his eyes. “Go on, Snow. I already know what it feels like.”

Simon shrugged and sunk further into himself. “It felt like crap.”

I shouldn't have pushed him, but I did. "Come on, it could help me figure out where to look. A lot of spells can make you feel like crap.”

He had looked around nervously before sighing.

“It felt like I was dying, but that it wasn’t going to happen right away. Every second felt like a year. A year of burning from the inside out. My throat felt swollen, and my muscles were betraying me. It was like the type of pain everyone always describes as white hot. Where your vision goes blurry and you think that it can’t be possible to feel like this, but it doesn’t stop. And as I was screaming, feeling like I was being torn into a million pieces, it felt like I was also being watched. Like people, not just people, but people I love and care about were watching it happen. I don’t know. I mean, I know you guys weren’t watching me die , but it was like you were, and all these people I had never met, like my mother, she was watching too, which is crazy. It was like my death was a spectacle, and like my demise was being cheered on and encouraged by the people I love." 

I wish I had never pushed him, never asked for more details. Because when Simon stopped describing the pain I was in tears, and Baz had to leave the room. We all pretended not to hear him throw up.

I hear a click in the lock. Baz has started using his key in front of me. The first time he did I raised an eyebrow at him when he walked in the door. He just shrugged— that was honestly our entire conversation. Our relationship is different now, somehow he has managed to weasel his way onto my very short list of people I care for.

He walks through the door covered in snow, soaking wet. His hair is sticking to his face in black clusters, contrasting against his pale skin. As always he looks for Simon first. I'm lucky if he remembers to nod at me, that's how much of an afterthought I am. Not that I mind.

His eyes look hauntingly beautiful for a moment when he sees Simon asleep on the couch. He softens his gaze, he  allows himself to be vulnerable. Only for a moment though.

His eyes harden when he notices me staring. But, they aren't filled with malice or hate. I think it might be his neutral expression, and if anyone deserves a hardened gaze, it’s Baz.

He shuts and door and drops the takeaway bags he was carrying onto the counter. 

As if on cue Simon wakes up from his nap. His face is creased with sleep, his lips wet with drool. 

“I brought dinner…for all of us.” Baz gestures between Simon and myself. He looks awkward. Like maybe the gesture is too much. Too much niceness, too much domesticity.

Simon sits up straighter, his eyes turning bright. “ _This_ is why I keep you around.” He says softly as he reaches greedily for the takeaway bags.

Baz snorts. “And here I thought it was because of my charm and good looks.”

“Yeah, and that.”

Simon grins as Baz brings him his container of food. He leans down to wipe the drool from Simon's face. 

“You’re a complete mess,” he whispers.

I smile at the two of them.

Baz looks over to me and points to one of the containers on the counter. When I open the lid we both pretend that he didn't get my favourite without me having to ask.

I sit on the couch beside Simon. Baz sits on the floor. Our normal positions. It all feels normal, our own special version— and it feels good.

I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

**SIMON**

As it turns out, having an arm and shoulder wrapped in a sling makes it really difficult to do anything myself. I've spent more time trying to put on my hat and coat—trying being the key word—than I normally spend trying to do anything. It is bloody impossible.

I start muttering to myself, my body oddly twisted, as I attempt to pull my hat down on one side and then the other. I’ve already given up on the coat.

“Where exactly do you think you’re going?” I look up to see Baz watching me from across the living room, leaning against a wall, smirking at my obvious struggle. He raises an eyebrow at me.

I glare. "You could help me you know.”

He laughs at me. “But you’re so cute when you try.” I drop my hat to the floor. I give up. I am officially breathless from effort.

I didn’t realize how much my muscles had atrophied between the vampire spelling and killing incident. I mean, most days I don’t even wear trousers. It isn’t like I am going anywhere, and if I do need to put them on Baz is always there to help me. I flush a little at the thought of his cool hands wrapped on either side of my trousers as he gently slips them up my legs to my waist. He never takes his eyes off of me when he does it. The bloody tease.

Baz has been pretty much a god-send. Starting with the fact that my arm would have been completely fucked without him. He did everything he could to help me that night. He sat beside me for almost an hour, pouring his magic into me, trying to heal everything that was broken. In the end I had to tell him to stop, because he would have kept going until there was nothing left to him. He did manage to mend the bone of my elbow back under the skin. But, I was still left with a fracture, a dislocated shoulder, bite marks, bruises, and a split knuckle on my good hand.

I ended up (under duress from Penny) going to a Normal hospital. The hospital staff thought I belonged to a weird fight club, which I suppose wasn't so far off from the truth. The doctor I saw insisted I stay overnight (which I thought was a bit dramatic, my elbow bone wasn’t even sticking out anymore). Baz was also sent home. I think they may have thought he was responsible. Didn't matter though, he just snuck by the nurses, a grin on his face, twenty minutes after they had kicked him out of my room.

I had wanted to thank him, for taking care of everything, for taking care of me. But I was so exhausted. I fell asleep with his hands in my hair and my head on his chest. He held me together, both physically and emotionally, when I felt myself slipping. Slipping back to how I was months ago, when I could barely put words together and my existence was defined by thousand yard stares. He pulled me back and kept me grounded, never leaving my side. I owe him everything for that. 

Of course that hasn't stopped him from acting like a complete git at times.

“Seriously Baz, this is embarrassing.” I pant. “Come and help _me_.” It comes out like a whine.

“Hold on you big baby.” Baz crosses the room in easy strides. He grabs my hat and slips it on my head properly.

“Was that so hard?” I ask.

“It really was,” he laughs. “Your head is massive.” I pout at him and bite my lower lip, just because I know it will drive him mad.

His laugh gets stuck in his throat. “You're pure evil Simon Snow," he whispers to me.

I give him a half smile. “I never claimed to be otherwise.”

He places both hands on either side of my face. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” I feign innocence and slowly start to chew on my lip.

He groans. “Now I _have_ to kiss you.”

I try not to be offended. “Is that really so bad?”

He looks into my eyes. “I’m trying to be good, after—“

He doesn’t need to finish his thought. I can tell he's embarrassed. He's been avoiding intense contact since the night I was spelled. He always pulls back when we start to get too intimate. I think he is afraid it will happen again, like it was somehow his fault. Even though I keep telling him it wasn’t.

“It's just a kiss.” I whisper inches from his mouth.

“It's _never_ just a kiss with you," he whispers back.

I grin. “And whose fault is that?”

This time he grins too. “Yours. Always yours.”

I lean closer to him. “I don’t have your control.”

He leans back. “Good. I don’t want you to.”

We stay still, breathing, our lips almost touching. I can tell he is trying to convince himself to pull back, but I don't want him to. I need this. I need him. How else am I supposed to cope with my crap life if I can’t snog my boyfriend whenever I damn well please?

“Baz?” I mummer.

“Yes," he exhales.

“ _Please_.”

He knows, and his breath turns sharp as he closes the space between us. His lips are gentle, softly parting my own. I lean against him, my good arm reaching up to brush his cheek. I feel the familiar warmth and heat build in my body. Nothing feels better than this.

He doesn't stay kissing me for nearly long enough. Eventually, he murmurs into my lips, pulling back ever so slightly. “Now seriously, where are you going?”

I answer truthfully. “To play in the snow.”

He opens his eyes. They are soft and comforting when I'm this close to him, even though the colour is a deep and intense grey. This close I can also smell his familiar scent— he smells like cedar and bergamot. He smells like home.

I see a smile play across his lips. “Is that a joke?”

I give him a deadly serious look in return. “Why would I joke about that?”

He rolls his eyes. “No one over the age of five plays in the snow.”

Again, I muster as much seriousness as I can. “People named Snow do— _obviously_ ," I tell him.

“You’re an idiot.” He shakes his head at me. But, his eyes crinkle in the corners with the start of a laugh.

“Do you want to join me?” I ask.

We grin stupidly at each other as he slips his hand in mine to follow me outside.

**BAZ**

I don’t normally nap during the day, but today I made an exception. It was just one of those days. For starters, it was so  cold I felt like I was made of ice by the time I got back from campus. Second, my first exam did not go as well as I had hoped. I knew all the facts, but I felt like my long answers were lacking their usual finesse. Normally, I am excellent at writing essays for exams. But today, I just couldn’t concentrate. The disappointment I felt in myself left a bitter taste in my mouth.

I couldn’t resist crawling into bed when I saw Simon curled up, a mountain of duvets around him, propped up with mint tea and his laptop. And then he smiled at me, like he hadn’t seen me in years, and I felt my disappointment seep out of me completely. I mean, I still did well, it wasn’t like I was going to fail. It just wasn’t my best. But Simon was smiling at me like I would never be anything _but_  my best. And he deserves that version of me— he deserves my best self.

I moved his laptop to the floor and straddled him on the bed. I pressed my lips lightly against his, tasting mint and cinnamon. It was heavenly. I allowed myself to sigh into him, to absorb all of his heat. It was like coming home to a burning fireplace. Crackling and alive— beautiful and warm.

I tangled my hands into his hair and gently parted his lips with my tongue. He practically smashed my face with his head in response. I hadn’t kissed him like that in weeks. But today I needed it, we both did. I stayed kissing him, long and deep, only until I felt myself pushing for more. I stopped as soon as the burning in my legs was begging for me to run my hands down below the covers. I didn’t want to risk anything. I squeezed his bicep gently and pulled back.

“Hiya," he breathed against me.

“Hi.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

“How was your exam?”

“It was okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Come here.” He pulled me against him using his good arm, and I let myself be held. It felt too bloody nice to put up a fight.

I shifted so I was laying against his chest, listening to the steady and familiar pattern of his heart. He was breathing into my hair, and I could feel his warm breath trickle down the back of my neck. His entire presence was soothing. I let my eyes gently close and before I knew it I was sound asleep. It was exactly what I needed.

I think I only managed to sleep about thirty minutes before Simon bounded of the bed, my face striking the pillow as he jumped up. He ran out of the room yelling about snow. (Actual snow, not himself.) When I sat up the world outside had been transformed. The snow was coming down in thick blankets, almost as inviting as the pile of sheets I was currently tangled in. The view from the window was spectacular.

Which is why I am now being led outside by a deliriously happy man—child. I resist the urge to tell him he really should be wearing a coat.

**PENNY**

I'm almost home when Simon and Baz come running out of the building. They are both laughing, Simon tugging on Baz's hand. Baz makes them stop once they hit the pavement to fix his hair. I roll my eyes. Uncooperative hair is about the only thing I’ve ever seen Baz lose his composure over.

Simon’s cheeks are already stained red from the cold, and he watches Baz fuss with his hair with a breathless grin. He looks exactly as he did at Watford every time it snowed.

Baz looks like porcelain in comparison. Not a single bit of his exposed skin is flushed. But, I swear his skin has a hint of sparkle against the brightness of the snow. I remind myself to make fun of him for it later. (He's spent hours arguing the disservice Edward Cullen has done for vampire education.)

They look beautiful together.

I am tempted to join them on whatever adventure they are about to have. But, I think they need this more than I do.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is literally playing in the snow. He wasn’t joking. I stand at his feet as he makes a bloody snow angel.

The snow is coming down quite hard, and his jumper is nearly white now, but he hasn't seemed to notice. He seems pretty set on seeing this snow angel thing through.

His laughter cuts through the wind. “Come on Baz! You know you want to make one with me.”

I shake my head and bounce on my toes. “I most certainly don't, it's freezing out." I give him a pointed look. "Laying under a pile of snow is not currently on my priority list."

He laughs harder. “And here I thought getting under me _was_ on your priority list."

I groan. “That was terrible, you can’t make snow puns about yourself.”

Simon shouts over the wind. “Of course I can! Besides, you’re just scared.”

I shouldn't encourage him, but I do. “Of what, the snow? Because I know how to handle _Snow.”_

His laughter makes my chest swell. I love making him laugh. He kicks snow towards me. “Baz, that was just as bad, if not worse, than my pun!”

I grin at him. “It was brilliant.”

He stops moving, his voice taking on a seriousness I know isn't genuine. “I think you’re just afraid your snow angel will end up having horns and a pitchfork, being evil and all.” And then the tosser winks at me and laughs at his own terrible insult.

His laugh really is lovely though. It wraps around me in the cold, and I feel the warmth start to build in my body. I think my insides might actually be melting.

I kick snow back at him. “Says the person who once had a tail.”

“A _dragon’s_ tail," he tries to clarify.

I raise my eyebrow. “You keep telling yourself that.”

He looks up to the sky and for a moment I am worried I've upset him. But when he speaks again he doesn't let on if I have. “It was cool, you miss it.”

“Sometimes," I say softly.

He goes back to making his snow angel, and I go back to trying not to complain about the cold. Just when I think he is about finished he catches my eye and lifts an eyebrow. “What?” I ask.

He tries to sound casual. “You know, I could always _make_ you join me.”

 I lift my own eyebrow to match his. “I highly doubt that.”

**SIMON**

I kick my foot and hook it behind Baz’s ankle. His eyes go wide. “You wouldn’t," he hisses.

“Try me.”

“Snow," he warns.

" _Pitch,"_ I counter _._

I grin mischievously and pull my foot forward as Baz comes crashing toward me.

**BAZ**

“Snow, you bloody idiot! I could have landed on your shoulder!”

Simon smiles triumphantly. “But you didn’t.” He says smugly. It’s obvious he’s unbelievably proud of himself for being able to pull me down.  

I sit up and back onto my knees.

“The great Tyrannus Basilton Grimm Pitch...” he starts, raising his eyebrows comically.

" _Don't_." I warn.

He can barely get the next part out, he's laughing so hard. "Who knew it would be so easy to _pitch_ you forward.”

I make a face at him. “First of all, that was worse than your snow pun. Second, I hate when you call me that.”

He bites on his chapped lips. “What? Tyrannus or Basilton? Or Grimm? Or Pitch?”

I groan. “You're an utter child, Snow.”

“You love it.” He winks at me again. (Twice in one afternoon. Any more and I might actually start to swoon.)

“That’s weird." I tell him, mostly to distract myself from the desire pulling in my stomach. He looks completely kissable right now.

He shrugs. “I am weird.”

It's like he has no idea the affect he has on me. Or, so I think, until he whispers, “C’mere." He makes his voice entirely too breathy for something as casual as _c'mere_. I frown, because _c'mere_ isn't even a real word. And I shouldn't bloody like hearing it so much. And I sure as _Morgana_  shouldn't follow his direction and lean closer to him. 

His hand reaches up to find my hip, rubbing small circles into my skin. He grins as I pretend all of this doesn't make me want to push him into the snow and kiss him until he can't form a proper sentence.

He rucks up my shirt, his fingers splaying across my lower abdomen as he leans his neck up toward me.

He shouldn't be this warm still, he shouldn't be able to make me feel this warm either, but he does.

"Baz." He says gently.

I shake my head. “Snow, keep it in your pants, we're in a park." I half laugh, trying to get him to stop sounding so breathless. So fucking sexy. 

It doesn't work.

“So?” He whispers, drawing his lips between his teeth. I groan. He knows what it does to me.

“You can’t be serious," I say. But, I want him to be.

He lets his fingers slide down the top of my thigh in response.

“People are looking.”

They aren't, but I can't do this. Not here. I am already thinking about his tawny skin naked in the snow— which would be impractical and stupid on many different levels. He just shrugs in response.

I sigh. “Okay, but remember, you asked for it.”

I lean in closer to his face, feeling his breaths come out cold and steady against me. I let my lips gently find his, careful not to put any pressure onto him as I grab a handful of snow at my side. I wait until I feel him smile against my mouth, until he parts my lips and reaches his head up to kiss me deeper. I wait until I know he is lost in the moment, until I can feel my own brain slipping into the delight of kissing him.

And then I shove a fistful of snow into his face.

I can’t stop laughing as he throws me off of him.

**SIMON**

I am breathless, and my face feels numb— no doubt from the face full of snow. But, Baz is finally beside me, making his own snow angel, and all I can think about is how I am never going back inside.

“Baz,” I whisper, my voice catching in the air.

“Yes?” He responds, half distracted by his efforts in the snow.

I need to tell him, tell him everything I haven’t said yet. How much he did for me, how much it meant. How much I love him. "Thank you," I say. It's a start.

He turns his head to look at me, frowning slightly. “For what?" he asks. "The snow in the face? Because I didn’t think you were into that.”

“No,” I laugh. “Everything,” I exhale, "just, _everything_.” He stares at me, silent.

I can’t read his expression, so I focus on his lashes. Snowflakes are falling onto them, making them darker and longer than usual, even prettier than usual (which I didn't think was possible.) I want to press my lips against them until the snow melts— I think that might be a weird urge though. So, I stay perfectly still and wait for him to respond.

Finally, he grins. “Who knew you would be such a sap Simon Snow, it's rather unbecoming.” But his words are soft, and he is staring at me with his grey eyes like he thinks I managed to create the snowstorm myself, just for us. I think my insides are turning syrupy, turning into nothing but sugar, because no one has _ever_ looked at me like this before. Like I am something worth holding onto, something even without my magic.

He reaches across the snow to find my hand. “You’re going to ruin my snow angel,” I whisper to him. He lets out an easy laugh, and I think about how much I love that sound, how I want to always be able to make him laugh like this.

“Simon, darling," he drawls, "I hate to break it to you, but your snow angel is terrible. Like _really_ terrible.”

He's right. Not only is it missing a wing, but I managed to trample half of the pattern on the other side while trying to throw him off of me. It was a whole other disaster. I pretend to be more offended than I am though. I start to scowl, hoping he will come over and kiss me.

“I hate you," I tell him. He knows I don't.

He smirks. "Is this a new development? Because I believe you’ve used the word _enthralled_ to describe your love for me.”

My heart hammers against my chest. I feel my cheeks heat up.

“Ugh,” I groan at him. As usual I can't think of anything clever to say.

Baz laughs at me. “Your way with words puts Hemingway to shame.”

I frown at him. “It's your fault, you know.”

He can't possibly know what I mean, but he responds anyway. “Isn’t it always?” 

I can't help the smile that spreads on my face. “Stop being so damn lovable,” I whisper.

He winks at me. “ _Never.”_

 _“_ Bastard _,”_ I laugh.

He goes back to his snow angel, still holding my hand. The park feels quiet, like everyone else has left us to be in our own little bubble. All I can hear is the sound of Baz lightly moving his limbs through the snow. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to leave this moment. I look over to Baz and wonder if he is thinking the same thing.

He knows I am staring. He always knows. The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile.

“Simon.” He says.

“Baz?”

“I love you, I hope you know that.”

My brain stops working. I look at him, not able to move, or say anything back. Because I didn't expect him to say this, and to say it so honestly. We haven't properly said it yet. I've whispered it to him between frantic kisses, knowing full well he doesn't hear me. He's told me while I've been in overwhelming agony. And, we've implied it more times than I can count. Including minutes ago when I said he was lovable. But, we've never said it in a moment of normalcy. When both of us are aware, and healthy, and not trying to hide it in another word. It's never been this raw.

Before I can think through what I am doing, I crawl through the snow. I ruin his angel along with mine, so I can kiss him until he knows that I could never hate him. So I can tell him I love him over and over again, letting each ‘I love you’ linger on my lips before being pressed into his. Like I could imprint his skin with my words. Until he knows that I am always coming out winning, because I have him.

_I really am a sap._


	11. Late night thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading and commenting so far :)

**SIMON**

I try not to spiral into a panic as I wake up. I have to remind myself to breathe. I don’t remember dreaming, but I can tell a nightmare was coming. I can feel the sweat starting on my skin, my hair slightly damp, my heart beating faster than normal. I guess after eleven months of nothing but the same nightmare my body has finally started to know when to wake me up.

I am surprised to feel Baz’s weight beside me, his back pressed tight into my side. 

He is breathing quietly, which seems oddly impressive. He exerts control even while asleep.

I shift slightly, pressing my face into Baz's shoulder. I close my eyes with the hopes of sleep. They immediately fly open again. I feel restless, and I can’t get my brain to shut up. This is why I hate waking up in the middle of the night. Every doubt and thought I try to ignore comes flooding in, and I am always too exhausted to stop it.

“Baz?”

He doesn’t move.

“Baz?” I try again a little louder.

His voice comes back raspy and tired. “Snow, do I even want to know what time it is?”

“You’re still here.”

“How very astute of you. Congratulations on your improved observation skills.”

“I just mean, usually you’re gone when I wake up at this time.”

“I'm fine until tomorrow.” His voice is already drifting back to sleep.

“Baz?” I nudge his side a little with my elbow.

“Crowley Snow, just because I'm a vampire doesn’t mean I don’t need to sleep.”

"This is important. Can we talk?”

“Are you planning on breaking up with me when I am half asleep? Because I can’t promise I will remember this conversation.”

“What? No? Why did you automatically jump to that? Actually, never mind. Don't answer that. Just, there is something that has been bothering me, you know, keeping me up at night.”

“Evidently.”

“Baz!” I give him another gentle nudge.

He sighs and rolls over to face me.

“Okay Snow, what has been worrying that pretty little head of yours.”

**BAZ**

I feel like a complete dick as soon as he tells me he wants to talk about the café. Of course he does, I mean we haven’t really talked about it— the whole almost being killed and killing a vampire thing.

It occurs to me that Simon has killed before, and we’ve never really talked about that either, or he hasn’t at least. I don’t feel like it is my place to bring it up. The fact the Simon has killed is a complete contradiction to his entire personality. He won’t even let me squish spiders, I have to set the vile things free outside. I am surprised he hasn’t completely come undone at this point in his life.

“I just, you know, I want to make sure you're okay?” He says. It comes out like a question. Leave it to Simon Snow to ask if _I'm_ okay.

“I'm fine.” I tread carefully. I don’t know where he is going with this.

“Okay, it's just that after today in the snow, it got me thinking. I just sometimes feel like I don’t check in enough. Like maybe I'm not as open as I should be.”

I couldn’t agree more with him. I want him to tell me things, to open up. But I know it has to be when he is ready. I can still be here for him without fully understanding what he is going through (the therapist may not have been entirely useless.)

“All right. Is there something _you_ want to tell me?”

He looks away and his voice goes small. “No. Well. I mean. Not exactly.” He glances at me nervously. He draws a deep breath, and then quickly exhales. “You were going to light yourself on fire.”

“What?” I purse my lips together and frown at him. Of all the things he could have said, I was not expecting this. 

“Baz, I could see it on your face. You had no intention of stopping when you started that flame. You were going to walk right into Roman until you caught yourself _and_ him on fire.”

I sigh loudly. I try not to get annoyed, because I know he's coming from a place of good intentions, it's just I don’t want to talk about this. (Not to mention the road to hell and all that goes along with said good intentions.)  “First off, I had limited options. Second, I wasn’t going to just ‘light myself on fire’. I knew what I was doing, I was in control.”

“You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke.”

Simon sits up and I watch him wince from the effort. He has moved too quickly and jostled his shoulder. I would reach out to touch him if he wasn’t currently glaring at me. I can see his anger start to flicker across his face.

“Snow,” I start quietly, "can we not do this?”

 I already know this is going to turn into a row. That I’ll say something I don’t mean. That he won’t be able to say what he does. It’s our thing. Our dynamic.

“Baz. I'm serious. You were going to let yourself burn. I just thought that maybe you wanted to talk about it.” He lets his voice soften just a bit, like he's hoping I won't notice. And then he tilts his head at me like he is trying to figure me out, which _really_ tests my patience.

“Snow, I’m not you. I don’t need to talk about my _feelings_.” Already my voice is coming out too harsh, bitterness seeping into my tone.

This is exactly why I didn’t want to talk at all.

**SIMON**

I turn on the light so I can see his face. He sounds bored. He _looks_ bored. Like we don’t need to be having this conversation. I can feel my skin start to smolder under the feeling of my anger. _Why does this always happen?_

**BAZ**

He looks like he is about to punch me. (Maybe he should? Might get this entire fight over quicker.) 

“Baz.” His voice is trembling, it sounds full, ready to burst. It is his tell; I know he is becoming increasingly flustered. “You can’t just light a flame in your hand, ready to burn, and then just _not_ talk about it.”

“I thought we agreed I could whatever I want.” I don’t know why I say this. But, I raise an eyebrow at him for good measure.

“Stop it. Why are you being such an arse? I want to talk about _this.”_

“About what, Snow?”

“ _This_!” He gestures between us with his good hand. “Everything. Us!” 

I keep my voice indifferent. "Snow, can you save your fair maiden drama for the morning? I'm too tired to think through your cryptic meanings.”

I am such an asshole.

“Fuck you,” he hisses at me. His voice catches, and I think he might cry. Instead he shoves me as hard as he can, which is harder than I anticipate considering his current injuries.

“That hurt, you fucking wanker.” I hiss at him as I rub the stinging from my chest.  

“ _Good_.” He sounds like a child.

“Come off it, you're being ridiculous.”

“Just tell me you weren’t going to kill yourself!”

“What?” I snap at him. Because I really didn’t think that was the conclusion he was going to draw.

This time when he responds his voice lowers, he calms down. He says each word slowly and carefully. He wants to make sure he doesn’t mess up, which usually means whatever he is going to say is important to him, which also usually means it will piss me off.

_I really don’t want to talk about this._

“Baz, just tell me— when you started that fire were you planning on killing yourself?”

"Crowley, I wasn’t going to kill myself. I told you before— I don’t have a death wish.”

“But, Baz. You’re flammable. You could have accidentally—“

“I know this is hard for you to understand,” I snap, “but some people can actually manage control.”

I’m beyond frustrated. Because Simon Snow is the most annoyingly persistent person I know. So of course I am irrevocably in love with him. I’m stuck with his kindness, and goodness, and big fucking heart for the rest of my life. (And I’m too disturbed to be anything but annoyed by it right now.)

“I can control myself?” His eyebrows furrow together in confusion. I snort. He bloody well knows he has no control.

“Is that how you explain Penny finding you trying to drown yourself?” I ask angrily.

It comes out before I can stop it. He isn’t supposed to know that I know. 

His face crumples. “I didn’t…I didn’t know you knew about that.”

“Yeah, well I do. _Surprise_.”

He shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“Neither was I.”

“Baz, you’re flammable.”

“And you can’t breathe under water." I sneer at him.

“I wasn’t—“

His voice sounds like it is breaking.

“Me either.” I don't let my own voice waver.

He doesn't respond, and we sit in uncomfortable silence. I should let this go. I’ve thrown him off, I could roll back to sleep and he would let me. This is what I wanted. But part of me wants to talk about the bathtub, because it has been months of not talking about it. I’ve managed to turn the conversation onto him, and I know how to get Simon to engage in a conversation. You just have to make him angry enough.

I sigh. "Look, I'm sorry for trying to save your arse, but I wasn't trying to kill myself. I promise.”

He looks over to me, anger replacing whatever he was feeling, exactly like I knew it would.

“I didn’t need you to save me at all!”

“You did.”

“Fine. Whatever. Baz Pitch had to fucking save me. But, you know what— you didn’t have to set yourself on fire to do it. You’re a vampire. And a fucking magician. Fire was stupid.” He huffs and then adds. “You’re stupid.” It’s like arguing with Mordelia.

I laugh. “That’s rich, Snow. What position did you finish in at Watford again?" I mock him, letting my words drag out. 

He narrows his eyes at me.

He’s not stupid. He’s actually quite clever. Plus I should know better than to mention Watford.

" _Baz_." He warns.

I shrug back at him in response, using his own body language against him. It works. I can see the flush of his neck as he stutters through his breathing. He's getting angry, and I know it is the only way he will yell what he needs to, and then we can finally talk about this. It is a fucking twisted system, but it is the only one I know. I am condition after eight years of trying to get the best of him—of pushing him easily to the seconds before he goes off, and then falling back to watch him stumble over the truth of the situation.

“Fuck you,” he spits, "you had a million options. You picked the one that would mean you died. How could you fucking do that?”

“Do what? Crowley, so _ungrateful_. Next time I’ll be sure to get your approval before I save you, make sure it is up to the _Chosen One’s_ standards.”

“Fuck you!” He shouts.

“You already said that!” I shout back.

I think for a minute he is actually going to hit me. That he might go for my throat and it will be like we are in third year again. Instead, his face twists and then he starts to cry; full, big sobs that I feel in my bones. I think I would have preferred if he had just punched me.

I went too far. I always do.

His voice comes out wrecked between sobs. “Just…how…how could you?”

“Fuck, Snow, I really don’t know what you're bloody talking about.” I let my voice drop. I can’t yell at him anymore.

“How could you just leave me?” He sounds wounded.

“I didn’t?”

“But you could have! You could have died. I thought— I was _worried_ —it would be like the forest again. I thought you were done.” He looks away from me and starts to cry harder.

The realization hits me all at once, and I feel like a complete bloody moron. Simon has been abandoned at every stage of his life. He's never had family, and he accidentally killed the one man he looked up to. In his entire life he has Penny and me. And I promised I wouldn't leave. I promised I wouldn't change my mind. Yet, there I was, in his eyes, prepared to leave him, ready to burn to the ground. That's how he saw it. That's what I was doing. I was hurting him.

I relax my voice, I try to make it tender, but I am not sure if I know how. “But I didn’t die. Simon, I wasn’t trying to kill myself, I promise.”

“But you could have. You could have actually caught fire. Penny and I wouldn’t have been able to save you. I would have watched you turn to ash. It would have _ruined_ me.”

“Simon…,” I whisper into the space between us. I don’t want to ever ruin him.

He looks at me, his blue eyes glossy and wet. “I just—you were going to leave me alone. You could have done anything else, Baz. You didn’t need to set yourself on fire.”

I get it. I made the choice. I picked fire. I always do. _I wasn’t thinking._ “Simon. I wasn’t… I didn’t.”

For once I don’t know what to say, because I would be livid at Simon if he did the same thing. I _was_ furious at him when Penny told me about the bathtub. She was convinced he wasn’t trying to hurt himself; that he only let himself slip a little too far. I understood. But I was still pissed. Because I saw it as him leaving too, as him giving up on me. And I was hurt, because it was clear I wasn’t enough for him to stay.

Simon dying would ruin me too. I wouldn’t carry on. I would die with him.

**SIMON**

_Fuck_.

This isn’t how the conversation was supposed to go. I wasn’t supposed to get so angry, and I definitely wasn’t supposed to burst into uncontrollable sobs. And Baz wasn’t supposed to know about the bathtub. He is looking at me like I am completely mental. I must be.

_Stop crying._

I tuck my knees into my chest and lean my head into them, shielding the side of my face with my good arm.

_Stop crying._

Every time I try to stop I just heave and shudder until a sob twice as loud comes out. I feel a hand reach out and touch my back. Baz hesitates for a moment before he gets up and kneels beside me on the bed.

“Simon.”

“Go away.”

“Simon.”

“I'm sorry I'm so fucking Normal.”

“ _Simon,”_ his voice is forceful.

“What?”

“I'm sorry.”

I look up at him. I must look a mess. “No, I'm sorry you have to date me.”

He starts to laugh and run his fingers through my hair. “ _Never_ say sorry for that.”

“But I'm an embarrassing mess. Just look at me!” I gesture to the snot running out of my nose. “I can’t stop crying. I found out you know about the bathtub, and I feel like a selfish twat for not telling you. All I wanted to do was make sure you were okay and weren’t trying to kill yourself in the café. Because I don’t think I could do this without you. Because I love you too fucking much.”

Baz grabs for a tissue on the bedside table and hands it to me. “Why didn’t you?” His voice is gentle.

“Why didn’t I what?”

“Tell me. You could have told me.”

“Because I'm humiliated. You and Penny deserve so much more than…than _this_.” I gesture to my face again.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed.”

“Well, I am. I'm a mess.”

He laughs gently. “You are, but we’ve already established I like that you’re a mess.”

I snort. “You’re disturbed.”

“You don’t even know the half of my twisted obsession with you.” He pulls me closer to him and puts his hands on either side of my face. He holds my gaze, his intense grey eyes challenging me, demanding my attention, telling me how deeply his feelings run. I try not to look away. I’m not used to this.

“ _Simon_ , when I started that flame, I didn’t see it from your perspective. I just, well I don’t know what I was doing. When someone is hurting you I see the end game of eliminating the threat, regardless of what happens inbetween.”

I close my eyes for a second. “That sounds more like me.”

His lips find the corner of my jaw. “Haven’t I always said we match?” He whispers against my skin.

I grin at the memory. “I just. I don’t want you to leave. Next time…think about that, okay?” I say.

“Okay. I don’t want you to leave either.”

Baz presses his nose against mine.

“I wasn’t going to, that night. I wasn’t going to leave. Not really. I couldn’t do that.” I say.

I scoot closer to him and tilt my head until my lips find his chin.

“No?” He asks.

“No. Not without you.”

I nip at his right cheek.

Baz presses his forehead against mine and exhales. “I thought it was because I wasn’t enough.”

“That is the stupidest thing you have ever said.”

“I will take that as a compliment coming from you.”

He draws his hands up my spine, and I lightly touch my tongue to the tip of his nose. He grins.

“Seriously, Baz. You are more than enough. It wasn’t about you. I was being selfish. I wasn’t going to leave. I….I can’t be me without you, you’re the only thing keeping me together.” I press my hand against his cheek. “You must know that.”

“I didn’t," his voice is quiet.

I curse myself for not telling him more. For not always being this honest about what he means to me. It feels good to be like this together, to talk about the things we normally try to avoid.

“Baz. I won’t leave. I'm yours for as long as you will have me.”

He's quiet for a few moments as he draws my legs around his waist and pulls me forward so I’m sitting in his lap.

He leans closer to me, close enough for me to see the lines of his face, to feel his cool exhales across my lips. “ _Forever_ ," he whispers. “I want you forever.”

I kiss him. I let my words pour out through my tongue this way. Because I’m better at this than words.

I hear his breath catch slightly, and I wonder if he is nervous, if perhaps he is more human than I give him credit for. If under all of his strength, and confidence, I can make him doubt everything. If how he feels is as terrifying for him as it is for me. Because forever with Baz doesn't sound nearly long enough.

I pull back from him slightly. “I hope that is a promise," I whisper.

“It is. I'm never letting you go.”

He wraps his arms around me tighter. He holds me like he really plans on never letting me leave. 

“Good,” I mumble against him.

**BAZ**

I am a marshmallow, melted and gooey; fragile and soft. 

He could break me in a second just by walking away, because he owns my heart. He always has, and I’ve never wanted anyone but him to have it.

 ----

**SIMON**

I don’t wake up again until the light is streaming through the window. It is the first time in months I haven’t had a nightmare. I stretch my good arm up and over my head lazily.

Baz's voice cuts through my soft haze of sleep. “Is everything just a big spectacle with you?”

I glance over, he is sitting propped up by pillows with a book in his hand. He doesn’t look up from it. _How does he do that?_ I shake my head at him, letting my curls fall into my face.

“Do you always watch me sleep? I thought we talked about this.”

“I don’t need to be watching to know you are making a show of yourself, stretching like a bloody cat in the sun.”

I grin. “I think you like it.”

He shrugs while turning a page. “I never said I didn’t.”

He looks composed. But, that’s not new. He always looks composed. Baz makes reading look like a Victorian portrait— refined, elegant, completely still. It's maddening. I keep grinning. I want to make him slip just a little. I like to make him a mess, to get to him. I move closer to him, until I know the heat from my body will start to roll across his skin in waves. He always says I am made from fire.

“What else do you like?” I whisper. I am trying to be seductive, but it isn’t exactly a word I would use to describe myself. Baz is the provocative one, he is all hard lines and grey steel. I feel like a soft pillow in comparison. I am hardly enticing the way he is.

He doesn’t look up from his book. “Many things. I'm easy to please.” I see a hint of a smile flicker in the corner of his mouth.

“Do you like _Snow_?” I ask.

He tries to hide his grin with his book. “I _love_ Snow.”

I reach my hand across the bed to his hip. I let my fingers trail down the outside of his leg to his knee and back up again. “And what about _this,_ do you like _this,”_ I whisper. I feel him shift slightly against the mattress.

He sighs dramatically. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t feel anything.”

His green silk pajama bottoms are sitting low on his hips and his white cotton shirt is tight against his chest. He looks good. He _always_ looks good. I give his bottoms a little tug, exposing a band of pale skin.

“Perhaps _this_ then?” I feel my voice catch embarrassingly as I run my fingers from his hip across his lower abdomen.

“No. I don’t quite feel that either.” I feel him push into the mattress harder, I watch as he slowly exhales on his words.

 _Almost have him_.

I shimmy closer to him and roll myself onto his legs, so my head is propped in his lap and he has to move his book up higher to accommodate me. He keeps reading, pretending not to notice me.

“And _this?”_ I lift up his shirt further and start kissing where my fingers were trailing moments ago.

“Not a thing.” His voice is breathy, barely a whisper. I can feel his muscles twitch under my lips. He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again, still looking at his book.

“Hmm, and what about now?” I kiss up his chest through his shirt until I find his neck. I straddle his hips and gently push him back into the headboard, taking the book from his hand and dropping it on the floor. I keep my lips pressed against his neck as I slip my hand under the waistband of his pants. Not for the first time I wish I could use both hands.

I am careful not to touch anything too sensitive as I let my hand rest on the top of his thigh. His leg is cold against my burning palm. I tip my hips into him. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him waver beneath me.

“Baz...,” I let my voice curl around him as I nudge my nose to his ear.

**BAZ**

Simon fucking Snow. He bloody knows what he is doing to me. I am not sure who wins if I hold out. (If I can hold out.) (I can’t. I already know I can’t.)

I want to roll him over and slam him into the mattress and then make him beg me to touch him. I lift my hips ever so slightly to meet his and feel him grin against my neck.

“I _might_ feel that," I exhale slowly, knowing my voice must sound ridiculous— filled with yearning like some harlequin romance character.

He pulls back to look at me. Even first thing in the morning he is unnaturally good looking. His face is creased with sleep still, and I resist the urge to try and smooth out the lines with my fingers. He bites down on his lower lip and starts to chew, never taking his gaze from mine.

He shifts his hand ever so slightly (the one resting on my thigh.) He can feel me now. How hard I am already. He is both touching and not touching me at the same time. It is driving me mad. He drums a pattern on my skin, no doubt tapping out words and songs. He always does.

He feels like fire, and I can’t resist flames.

He keeps looking at me and finally I growl. He smiles triumphantly because he knows he has won. I reach forward to find his lips. I am always reaching. Every single time.

_Simon fucking Snow._


	12. An old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is reading :)
> 
> I brought Agatha back, and feel like I need to say I don't hate her . I totally get her importance to the story and I have no intention of her stealing away Baz or Simon. That being said, I have written Baz to hate her. Mostly because she doesn't trust him with Simon and he knows that, which makes him defensive (and brings out his insecurities). I also think Agatha and Simon would still care for and love each other (not romantically) so Agatha is just trying to figure out what has been going on!
> 
> She is in the next couple of chapters as well!

**PENNY**

Agatha is back home for winter break. She texted me and asked if she could come round. I wanted to say no. I am not even really sure why she is trying anymore. However, she kept insisting. She pulled a Penny and kept asking until I finally said yes.

When I answer the door I almost feel like a regular person having a friend over. Sometimes, I like to pretend I am Agatha. What would Agatha do in this situation? Bring up vampires. The café incident _? Simon? Baz? Magic?_

 _No._ Agatha knows how to keep a conversation safe. How to talk about something seemingly unimportant like it is the most important thing in the world. I don’t even need to talk. She can carry a conversation all on her own.

We sit on the couch, facing one another, her legs tucked up under her like how she always used to sit when we would gossip. Only she’s talking about the weather and California, and I’m trying not to think about everything else.

She is in the middle of a story about the beach when Simon comes stumbling out of his room.

“Penny, I swear, you haven’t experienced happiness until you sit on the beach in the middle of October and you don’t feel like dying from the cold. I mean, it is kind of cooler in October, but nothing like—”

Agatha stops talking, and her eyes go wide.

“Oh,” she says quietly.

 _Shit_. I sort of forgot to tell Simon she was going to be here. Truthfully, I also sort of forgot he was even here. I thought he was out with Baz, and I got distracted trying to focus on having a normal conversation.

Simon stares at Agatha like he's concerned he might still be asleep. It takes me a moment to realize that not only is he shirtless, but he's also decided to forgo his signature trackie bottoms. He's literally standing before us in nothing but his pants.

And then I realize exactly what Agatha must be seeing. His one arm wrapped in a sling. The scars on his skin that stand out like imperfections on a piece of glass. A few lingering bruises that have turned an unpleasant yellow-green colour. It doesn’t even phase me anymore— seeing Simon basically naked, or seeing his battered body — but Agatha freezes and they both gawk at each other. Finally, she clears her throat.

Simon’s entire body flushes a crimson red. “Oh, fuck. Merlin and Morgana _, Penny!_ ” He shouts as he runs back into the bedroom and slams the door. I burst out laughing. He can be so dramatic sometimes.

Agatha’s voice comes out small and concerned. “Penny. What the bloody hell have you been up to?”

I pretend not to know what she is talking about. “What? Surely you have seen Simon half naked before. I mean you _did_ date.”

She frowns, her glossed lips sticking in the middle. “No, I mean why does Simon look like that?”

I hold her gaze, her honeyed eyes demanding the truth. I shrug. “Look like what, Agatha?” I don’t know how long I can avoid this.

Agatha lets out a frustrated groan. “Jesus, Penny! It looks like a bloody bear mauled him. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Well… I didn’t think Simon would walk out shirtless.”

Her eyes go wide. "Wait, did he even know I was going to be here?”

“Uh, not exactly," I tell her honestly. She glares at me, her narrowed eyes making it clear I've betrayed some code I should have known about. (If anything, I betrayed Simon by not giving him fair warning.)

“Penny. Seriously. What is going on?” She asks.

Before I can answer Simon calls out. “Penny? I need your help. I can’t dress myself and Baz isn’t here.” I hear a loud crash. “Oh, fuck me! Penny, I need help _now_.”

I start laughing again and slip onto the floor. Agatha looks like someone has hit her face, it is completely scrunched up and distorted. I sort of forgot to tell her about Baz and Simon as well.

This is why I don’t have friends.

“ _Penny_!” Simon’s voice comes through the door again. Agatha looks at me, like she doesn’t even recognize me anymore.

 “I have so many questions." She says, while shaking her head.

I shrug. “I don’t have many answers." I get up and walk towards Simon’s room. I close the door behind me and wipe and tears from my eyes.

Simon is halfway in a pair of trousers, a lamp on the floor beside the bed— an obvious victim from his attempt at putting on clothes. I pull myself together and spell his clothes on him without a second thought.

" ** _I'm learning to get dressed!_ ”** I say cheerfully. Simon frowns at me. It is a spell that utilizes a nursery rhyme for children, and is generally only used with kids under the age of five. I probably could have picked a better one, but this one rarely goes wrong. You risk ending up with pants on your head with some of the other spells (trust me, it has happened before). I shrug at Simon, already knowing he is annoyed at me for using the spell. 

“Baz doesn’t use magic," he tells me hotly. 

“Simon, darling, you're very mistaken in how our relationship works if you think I'm putting on your trousers like your bloody boyfriend does.” I can't help but tease him. He makes it so easy.

He glares at me, a pout on his lips. “I _don’t_ like how it makes me feel.”

I roll my eyes. I've never understood this. Simon loves to be _around_ magic. But he hates having magic _used_ on him. Most people are borderline junkies when it comes to magic being pulled through them.“It was that or you give Agatha another heart attack by walking out naked.”

His eyes snap to attention. “ _Oi_ , that reminds me— a little warning next time, Pen. I know it is your flat too, but even a text to say ‘your ex-girlfriend who you haven’t spoken to in months is on the couch, make sure your decent’ would have been appreciated.”

I laugh at him. The entire situation is so bizarre. It calls for inappropriate laughter.

Simon sighs. “Seriously. Penny, why is she here?”

I shrug and pick up the lamp from the floor. “I don’t know? She wanted to visit? I guess the secret is out now.”

He looks confused. “What secret?”

“You and Baz.” I say casually.

He groans and covers his eyes with one hand. " _Penny._ I assumed you told her!”

“I have other things to talk about besides you and your love life.”

“Great snakes, I feel like a complete bounder.”

“Why? I'm positive she's over you.” I am only teasing, but he gives me a death glare anyway. I guess this is still a touchy subject. 

“I know _that_. It's just awkward.” He starts to pull at his hair, in a very Baz like manner. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch as I resist the temptation to tell him.

“Come on then,” I grin, “let’s go make nice before she thinks we have some weird arrangement too.”

His features soften a little. “We _do_ have a weird arrangement.”

“Ha. You wish.”

He lightly shoves me as we walk back into the living room. Agatha looks like a pretty ornament precariously perched on the couch. She really doesn’t belong.

**AGATHA**

What the bloody hell have I missed?

I run through the series of conversations I have had with Penny over the last few months. Sure, we maybe don’t share secrets like we once did, but we were never as close as her and Simon to begin with. I always got the distinct impression I was a bother to them, to their courage and bravery, their headstrong approach to life. I could practically feel their eyes glaze over every time I talked about perfecting my dressage. But I thought we were still close enough for Penny to at least mention something as significant as Baz and Simon helping each other do things like get dressed. 

Whatever the fuck that means.

When Simon comes back into the room he looks more like himself. His skin is the same pale gold it has always been. And, if you squint, you can hardly notice the ugly bruises that dip below his clothes. His hair is still short in the back and longer on top; it still looks silky and brazen.

Although, his clothes seem different. He is wearing a dark blue jumper that complements his eyes, and his soft grey trousers are fitted against him. He looks really nice—I don’t remember him wearing anything this nice when we were together. He almost looks like—

 I don’t finish my thought.

Penny and Simon both just stand in front of me, like they are waiting for me to invite them to sit down. Simon rubs the back of his neck with his hand and looks at the floor, a familiar nervous tick. At least some things haven’t changed.

Penny finally breaks the tension. “So, what should we do?”

I want to say, how about we play twenty-one questions, or better yet fifty questions. “We could watch a movie. A Christmas one perhaps?” I offer instead.

Simon’s face lights up, and I remember how joyful his personality is underneath all of his anxiety. He never missed an opportunity to smile at Watford, even when something was lurking in the corner waiting to kill him.

I dream about his smile sometimes, how bright and genuine it always is. But, I give us a different life in my dreams. One where he isn’t magic. He is American and spends his days surfing. I see him on the beach, he wears tight wetsuits and his hair is always filled with salt. We always end up kissing— and it is nothing like how our kisses were. It doesn’t ever feel like a last kiss, or like he is about to die, or save the world. In fact, in my dream, Simon has never once thought of using a sword, or his fists, or a wand. He just surfs, and he is happy.

“Perfect! I haven’t see Rudolph yet.” Simon goes over to a stack of DVD’s by their television and crosses Rudolph off a list stuck to the wall (likely with magic, not actual tape, even though fucking tape would be easier.)

“What's that about?” I point to the list. It’s a question I actually allow myself to ask.

Penny looks between Simon and the list. She stands up a little taller, even though she is the shortest one here. I know she feels protective of him. She always has. Like she always knew I was capable of breaking him. “It's  _our_ list of films that Simon has never seen.”

I try not to notice her stress on the word ‘our’. Like I don’t belong and shouldn’t be privy to their list. She seems to forget that I used to spend every Christmas with Simon, that I used to spend a lot of time with him full stop. I know he didn’t get to watch Christmas specials as a kid. I know he didn’t even know what a mincemeat pie was until Watford. I know he can't swim or drive. I know that he once stole a bag of crisps from Tesco because he was so hungry.

I _know_ Simon. I clench my fists at my side as Penny and I stare at each other. Apparently, she has also blocked out the fact that I was Simon's family at one point— that my family provided him with love and stability just like hers. I feel defensive, like I need to explain myself, to play a game of who knows Simon better to show that I am not a crap friend, and that I used to be a great girlfriend. Simon was the terrible boyfriend.

Instead, I answer— “I think that is really nice,” because I am always polite.

**PENNY**

Agatha stretches on the couch, waiting to watch Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer...  _again_. Simon loved it and insisted we watch it through once more.

I bring over three mugs of hot cocoa and set them down on the coffee table.

“Agatha, can you sit on the floor?” I ask.

She snorts. “Why? It’s common decency, Penny, to let your guests sit on actual furniture.”

I sigh heavily. “I don’t care about common decency. Simon _needs_ the couch.” I snap.

Simon looks up at me from where he's been sat on the floor for the last hour. He widens his eyes and shakes his head. “I’m fine, Pen.”

I give him a glare back. “You’re not. I saw you trying to lean against the couch earlier. Your back is hurting again. You need to sit properly.”

Agatha looks embarrassed as she gets up and positions herself cross-legged on the floor. “Sorry, Si. I didn’t know.” She says quietly.

Simon shrugs. “I’m fine. Honestly. I’m still a little tired is all.”

I sit on the couch and pat my legs. Simon rolls his eyes. “I’m not your bloody dog, Penelope.”

I laugh. “Does that mean you don’t want me to scratch your head?”

He frowns. “Let’s not say anything rash.”

He lays his head in my lap and curls his legs up towards his chest. I start playing with his hair. It’s how we always sit on the couch. I thought Simon might be less interested in human contact after everything, but he clings to it now. He’s still eerily quiet sometimes, but he likes giving hugs, and he never lets go of Baz’s hand if he can help it. It's like he puts his entire self into his touches now. You can feel his energy. (I have a stash of divination and aura books under my bed and a head full of reading techniques that I'm dying to try out on him.)

Agatha looks over at us, and I can tell she wants to ask a question. She has been aching to ask questions since she saw Simon. “I think you guys might have a weird relationship.” She huffs, and I know it isn’t what she wants to say.

“Haven’t you always said that,” I reply.

“Hush,” Simon hisses as the credits open.

The silence lasts for the opening song.

“Penny?” Simon says earnestly.

“Didn’t you just shush me?” I ask.

He ignores my comment and rolls over to look up at me. “I think this is my life story.”

He is being completely serious, but I erupt into laughter anyway. “You are nothing like Rudolph you plonker.” I flick his forehead with my fingers.

“I'm everything like _him_!” Simon shouts, his voice impassioned.

Agatha looks at us like we’ve lost our bloody minds.

“Rudolph has a girlfriend,” I remind him. “ _And_ is a deer.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “So? I used to have one too. Clarice is basically Agatha.”

Agatha coughs awkwardly. Simon quickly glances at her. “ _Fuck_.” He whispers. I think he may have forgotten she was there. “Sorry, I don’t mean anything—“

Agatha waves him off. “It’s fine.”

Simon turns back to me. “Besides, don’t be such a literalist, Pen. I could _easily_ be a deer.”

I flick his head again. “This conversation is _literally_ ridiculous. Where is Baz? He would back me up on this one.”

Simon shrugs. “Christmas shopping.”

“I wasn’t expecting that.” I say, frowning.

“What did you think? That he would be off doing—“Simon pauses, and looks to Agatha again.

Agatha already knows Baz is a vampire. So whatever Simon was about to say would likely be the least shocking thing about her day so far.

“No,” I say, shaking my head and finishing his thought for him. I assume he was going to say something about hunting. “Well, maybe,” I add. “I don’t know. Christmas shopping just seems so Normal.”

I don’t really know where I am going with this, just that it still feels weird Baz _is_ so normal.

“So, Baz is here often then?” Agatha asks softly.

Again, it isn’t the question I know she wants to ask. But it is closer. I find it amusing, watching Agatha struggle to remain respectful, her up-bringing always at the surface of her personality.

If it were me I would have already asked if they were shagging. 

But I’ve never been as lovely or as polished as Agatha.

 _“_ A hell of a lot more often than you, Wellbelove. _”_ Baz’s voice comes through the front door and we all jump.

“Stop eavesdropping you creep,” Simon yells back to him.

“It isn’t my fault you’re always talking about me.” Baz says breathlessly as he throws open the door. He has several shopping bags stuffed under his arms.

He gives Simon and me a cool glare.

“Perhaps one of you would care to help me with this?”

Simon looks back up at me and shakes his head, a mischievous grin on his lips. “Sorry, Baz,” he says, “we're _busy_.”

Baz snorts. “Busy watching cartoons like children you mean?”

I interject. “No, busy watching Simon’s life story— _obviously_.”

**BAZ**

 I don't have time to process what the hell Agatha Wellbelove, she-devil extraordinaire, is doing watching Rudolph and his band of merry misfits with my boyfriend. 

Last I checked, she was supposed to be sipping diet cokes on Venice Beach. 

I feel a momentary twinge of jealousy as I slam the door in an unnecessarily dramatic fashion. I have to remind myself that just this morning Simon was eager to prove how much he prefers me.

Bunce rattles something off about Simon's life story. 

“You’re life story? Please tell me I am not Clarice in all of this.” I say to Simon, slightly breathless as I wrestle a bag to the floor before I end up breaking the glass figure I bought for Daphne. It's something terribly kitschy, but she collects them. (Magical creatures I think? Hard to tell if I bought a Pegasus or a deranged donkey.) 

“Of course not.” Simon doesn’t take his eyes from the screen.

“Clearly that is Agatha, Baz— keep up.”

I glare at Bunce. When she winks back, I shake my head like she has disappointed me. Her retaliation comes in the form of her hand clutching at her heart as though I've inflicted a mortal wound. My lips twitch in an almost smile. 

“Granted it has been a few years since I have watched this, but doesn’t Rudolph end up with Clarice?” I ask as I drop off the bag with groceries on the kitchen counter. (Simon could have at _least_ helped with the groceries, it's basically all for him.)

“Merlin, you and Penny are both so literal." Simon's voice cracks slightly.

I sigh. I'm not trying to make him flustered or embarrassed. But, he did just liken his life to a cartoon. Although... I guess he has a point, Rudolph does have a shit life if you stop to think about it. Not to mention the moral of the entire story (the depressing one you never want to think about) is that people don’t like you unless they can use you— something Simon is all too familiar with.

"Fine, Snow," I say, more softly. "You might have a point."

I can tell he's shrugging, even though I can't actually see his shoulders. "S'all I was saying." He mumbles.

I almost forget about Agatha until she flips her hair, the movement catching my eye. I realize she's sitting in _my_ spot, looking incredibly uncomfortable. Likely because Penny just referred to her as Clarice. Agatha has always hated a pre-determined role. I’ll give her credit for that.

“Why are you here?” I ask bluntly. She glances at me quickly. I raise a questioning eyebrow.

"Nice to see you too, Basil."

I snort. "I can't say the feeling is mutual." I don't mean to be so rude. (Actually, I do. I just meant to be a bit more subtle, at least subtle enough for Simon not to notice.) 

Simon and Penny both look back at me, eyes wide, like I’ve just announced I am going to off her. I shrug. An unfortunate habit I seem to have picked up from Snow. 

Penny glares at me. “Agatha is home for Christmas, she thought she would visit.”

“She saw me.” Simon blurts out suddenly.

I stand behind the couch and direct my eyebrow at him this time. His muscles start to twitch. I know his anxiety is building. I restrain myself from going over to him and placing my hand on his leg, the way I always do, when his ticks start to become too aggressive.

“Snow, considering she’s sitting right here, I would assume she has seen you.”

Simon shakes his head. “No, I mean, like—without my shirt and stuff. She saw me naked.”

I frown and chew on the inside of my cheek. I wait patiently, because there better be a fucking follow up.

“Not like _that_ —” Agatha looks at my face before quickly looking away again. I’ve never seen her look scared of me before. Even when she caught me draining that rabbit, she didn’t seem scared. She just seemed intrigued... possibly even a little infatuated. 

I am not sure what has changed, but then I let Simon’s word sink in— she saw him naked. She saw the scars and bruises covering his body.

I frown more. Crowley, not her too. Does everyone really think I can’t control myself?

“I didn’t know she was here.” Simon offers as further explanation. He doesn’t look at me, and his voice has gone small. It’s like he is expecting me to be angry, which pisses me off.

I nod my head to myself, since no one seems to want to look at me. “This has been sufficiently awkward.” I say.

Simon sits up and reaches for my hand on the back of the couch.

“Need help?” He asks glancing down at the bags.

I shake my head. “That would have been a valid offer five minutes ago. I've got it," I snap. 

I pull my hand away from him and head to his room, slightly annoyed that everyone seems to relax once I have my back turned. I can feel the tension dissipate, like one giant, collective exhale. (I am _not_ the problem in this equation.)

I place my bags under Snow’s bed, and then spell them invisible, otherwise he will find an excuse to “accidentally” look through them later. I should have gone round to Fiona’s first to drop them off. Last time I went shopping I caught him looking for the bags when I went to the bathroom (he can’t possibly think I would leave them out for him to find).

“What are you doing?” I had asked him. He had his head in a kitchen cupboard I know he had never opened before.

“Oh. Um. I was looking to see what you bought." (The fact that he didn't even try to lie was rather adorable.) 

“Why?”

“I don’t know what to get you.” He said honestly, dropping his head.

“Nothing.” I said seriously.

He had looked up at me like I told him I kick puppies for the thrill of it.  
  
“But it's Christmas, Baz.” He said in that sickeningly sweet voice of his. The one where you expect him to turn into a cartoon with watery eyes and a heart beating too loud.

“I'm aware, Snow.”

“I want to get you something.” He had said firmly. He knew I was going to put up a fight.

“I don’t need anything, unless you want to wrap yourself.” I told him. It was a cheesy line, but he loved it. I followed up by kissing him until he completely forgot the subject of our initial conversation.

I walk back into the living room, aware of Agatha following me with her eyes. I sigh excessively. This is maddening. I shove Simon’s feet from the couch.

“ _Oi_!” He shouts at me.

“Make room," I tell him coolly. He groans and sits up. Three of us really can’t fit on the couch. It is why I always sit on the floor. But I am feeling oddly territorial. And I don’t want to sit beside Agatha. Simon slides from the couch onto the floor beside her. I frown. That isn’t what I wanted either.

Penny gives me a look like I'm mental. I shrug and sit down so Simon’s shoulders touch my knees. I lean forward slightly, running my fingers through his hair. I watch as the back of his neck flushes and he drops his head back a fraction of an inch. Enough for me to notice how much he likes this.

I mean, I would have done this anyway, but part of me is hoping to get a reaction out of Agatha. She braces her shoulders a little. I smile triumphantly.

“So, Wellbelove, how is California?” I ask civilly.

“What? Oh, um good.” She doesn’t take her eyes from the television.

“Do you get a lot of warm weather?”

“Yeah.”

“I imagine California is filled with a lot of good looking blokes, yeah?”

Penny kicks out her foot to my thigh. I ignore her. She knows exactly what I am doing. 

“ _Excuse me._ ” As if on cue, Simon’s voice comes out indignant. “You don’t need to go to California for that, England has _plenty_ of good looking blokes.”

I smile to myself. As it turns out, being an expert in Simon Snow can really work in your favour.

“Don’t worry, _gorgeous_. Not for me.” It doesn’t even sound like me. I practically purr it at him. I don’t think I have ever referred to Simon as ‘gorgeous’ in front of other people. Actually, I’ve never used the term of affection before.

Simon turns to look at me, a puzzled expression stuck on his face. “Are you feeling okay?” He asks seriously.

I wink. “Just admiring my boyfriend.” I try to make my voice sound wistful, like some terrible love-sick teenager. (Which, I am. But, that’s beside the point).

Simon shakes his head a little but still smiles at me. “You are so strange sometimes.” He says softly. I can tell he’s pleased though. I lean forward and kiss his nose, ignoring the kicking at my thigh.

“Okay, are we all going to pretend this isn’t really fucking weird?” Agatha spits out.

I smirk. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Agatha swear before.

**AGATHA**

I can’t help it.

I watch Baz dote on Simon and it makes me feel sick. Not because he is a boy, but because I saw Simon’s body. His scars were _puncture_ marks.

Not to mention, for as long as I have known Simon he has vehemently  _hated_ Baz. And Baz has always encouraged it.

So excuse me if I'm am not going to sit here and bloody pretend it is normal for Penny and Simon and Baz to share this weird fucking life together.

Ix—nah—on—the—politeness.

**PENNY**

“It isn’t weird. Our lives didn’t just stop because you left. We all moved on.” I snap at Agatha. It comes out bitter and harsh. But, I am angry. She can’t just walk in here and question everything, even if Baz provoked her. (Which reminds me, I need to smack Baz across the head later.)

“A little heads up would have been nice, Penny. Did you think it wasn’t important to tell me Simon has decided to date his enemy?”

“I don’t really call him that anymore,” Simon mumbles, his voice shaky. He doesn’t like confrontation (not with people he cares about anyway). If he still had his magic the room likely would already smell like smoke, his irritation filling the air around us.

“It doesn’t matter what you call _him_.” Agatha throws back at Simon. She starts lecturing him like he's a child.

A flush creeps up Simon’s neck, which causes Baz to lean forward protectively. I roll my eyes at Baz. I’ve literally heard him  use the exact same tone with Simon, but _now_ he chooses to have an issue with it.

“Wellbelove, I can bloody hear you. I'm sitting right here.” Baz says.

“I know that,” Agatha huffs. She sits up straighter.

“Okay, look— Agatha, I'm sorry I didn’t tell you. I probably should have. But a lot has happened you don’t know about, and Baz and Simon being together really isn’t important.” I say, trying to deescalate the situation.

She snorts and Baz shakes his head at me. Simon looks up from under his hair. “Penny, we don’t need to talk about this."

I sigh. According to Baz and Simon we never need to talk about anything.

Agatha turns her attention back to Simon. “And what is that we don’t need to talk about? The vampire bites covering your body, or the fact that you’re basically one big bruise, or how about how you look like a beaten dog in the corner?"

Simon flinches. “I _don’t_ look like _anything_.”

Agatha tsks aggressively and moves closer to Simon. “ _Yes_ you do,” she says firmly. “Jesus, what is wrong with all of you? Can you not see how broken he is? How have none of you noticed?"

“I'm fucking _fine_.” Simon grits out. He clenches his fists at his side. I swear the air around him starts to crackle with his anger as he fights to remain calm.

Baz leans down to Simon’s ear and whispers something I can’t hear. Whatever he says works though, because Simon lets his hands release and he shits backward, closer to Baz, further from Agatha. I am not sure if it is a conscious movement or not.

“Agatha, seriously. You don’t know what happened. Leave him alone.”  I say. I feel protective of Simon. Of all of us. She doesn’t understand. She isn’t part of our new normal.

She snorts. Exasperation taking over. “Whose fault is that Penny? Of course I don’t know what happened, you haven’t told me anything!”

“Oh fuck off Agatha, you’re the one who left.”

This isn’t how the afternoon was supposed to go. I was planning on telling her everything that had happened (eventually). I had wanted it to be like old times, when she used to offer a new perspective neither Simon or I had thought of. She was always surprising me with her knowledge on the magical world. She would know some random piece of information she had heard at an afternoon tea once, and it would turn out to be the piece we needed all along to solve our problem.

The afternoon wasn't supposed to end with me telling one of my oldest friends to fuck off. 

“Yeah, and apparently you should have left too!” She shouts at me.

“I would have, and I would have taken Simon and Baz with me. Unlike you, you just left everyone. You don’t get to pretend to care now!” I shout back.

She softens her voice a little. “I'm not pretending. I still care. Look at Simon— he's a mess. You both should get out of London. It isn’t good for you here.”

Simon interrupts. “I'm not going anywhere without Baz." His voice is angry and rough. His jaw set. And he is now completely backed into Baz, like he thinks someone is going to take him away from him. Like he might need to grab onto his leg and hold on with everything he has.

It is depressing to watch. Agatha stares at Simon like he is a fool. She goes to say something but I cut her off. “ _Agatha_ , just drop this, okay?”

Baz is disconcertingly silent. He keeps his eyes fixed on Simon, one hand gently carding his hair. I can’t tell what he is thinking. I am worried he will say something terrible, something he can’t take back. But he just keeps staring at Simon.

“ _Fine,_ ” Agatha huffs. I expect her to get up and leave, but she doesn’t. She just turns back to the television. “Does anyone want dinner? I'm starving."

It is like the entire conversation never happened. I forgot how easy it is for her to pretend.

**BAZ**

Penny orders a pizza, which I then have to go and pick up, which seems a bit unfair since I won't even be eating it. I almost bribe Simon to come with me (the promise of ice cream and snogging in the alley usually works), but I realize how pathetic that would be. I only want to drag him with me so he isn't near Wellbelove.

When I get back Wellbelove is practically in Simon's lap, talking to him about some Normal band.

Bunce comes to help me in the kitchen.

"If anything happens, I hope you know I will hold you personally accountable." I hiss at her.

She laughs. Actually laughs at me. And then she doesn't bother answering, she just takes plates of pizza to Simon and Agatha.

Agatha glares at me over her pizza like I’m the devil reincarnate. (Which, truthfully, is better than her thinking shagging me should be her teenage rebellion).  

They start talking about music again. I don’t have Snow’s affinity for Normal music— at least not the modern stuff. I choose not to contribute to the conversation so I don’t embarrass myself. Really, I want to say, “Who the fuck is Snow Patrol?” But, I don’t.

I don’t even know why Simon is bothering being nice. Agatha basically implied he was a useless mess, and he fucking hates that. I would know.

The rational part of my brain tells me I shouldn’t hate Agatha. If I am being honest, she is the only reason Simon was single in the first place. I am positive he never would have left her, either out of obligation or some misguided sense of chivalry. He thought it was his pathetic Chosen One destiny to marry her, so no matter how wrong they were, he was never going to be the one to admit it.

I _should_ thank her.

Instead, I can’t stop glaring, because when you’re the one to end something, you’re also the one who gets to feel like they have made a mistake.

I feel my phone vibrate against me.

 **P:** You’re going to set her on fire if you don’t stop staring.  
**B:** I don’t know what you’re talking about.  
**P:** Fire. Literal flames. Combustion. Our living room burning.  
**B:** I don’t like her.  
**P** : You don’t have to. Does it bother you Simon isn’t mad at her?  
**B:** Snow never stays mad at anyone. It means nothing.  
**P:** Jealous?  
**B:** You wish.  
**P:** Don’t have to, like I said— literal flames.  
**B:** Shut it, Bunce. I don’t get jealous.  
**P:** Probably not…you just set people on fire ;)

I shake my head and put my phone away. I can hear Penny quietly laughing to herself.

_I am not jealous._

**PENNY**

Agatha invites Simon to a concert with her next week. At first she only invites Simon, until she looks up to see both Baz and I blatantly scowling at her.

She looks down and picks at lint on her tights. “I have extra tickets, you should come too Penny.” She at least sounds genuine with her invite. 

Simon frowns, a red flush sprawling across his cheeks. “Baz too, yeah?"

Agatha keeps looking down and doesn’t respond. It couldn’t be more obvious that she doesn’t want to invite Baz.

“Seriously,” Simon adds.” I'm not going without him.”

Finally Agatha rolls her eyes and looks up. “What are you, co-dependent now or something?”

“ _Yeah."_ Simon shrugs, his voice nonchalant and indifferent. _"_ Something like that."

I can’t help but feel a little proud of him for standing his ground. 

Agatha sighs. “Gods, Simon, you even sound like _him_ now.”

I can see Baz’s mouth twitch out of the corner of my eye. Simon keeps looking at Agatha, one eyebrow raised in a question.

Agatha gives in first with a heavy exhale. “ _Fine_. You can all bloody come.”

\---

**PENNY**

Agatha finally left after another hour of awkward conversation. She gave me a big hug and promised to text me more about the concert, like the last few hours weren’t incredibly painful. She gave Simon a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping back abruptly. She glared over her shoulder at Baz, as I tried not to laugh. I could see his hand casually in his pocket, the edge of his wand visible at his wrist. The tosser spelled her back.

I’m exhausted.

I head to the kitchen to make a cup of mint tea before bed. Who knew trying to have three friends could be so tiring. I think I might just stick with the two idiots I have. I look over from the kettle at the two of them curled up on the couch together. Simon is already asleep, tucked into the space between Baz’s legs, his head against his chest while Baz reads.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks I'm the creepy one. You do nothing but lurk, Bunce.” Baz says quietly as he turns the page of his book.

_Seriously, how does he do that?_

I smile. “I don’t think you get to make fun of me anymore.”

“But that gives my life purpose.” He sneers.

“It just doesn’t have the same affect now that I know you are jealous of _Agatha_.” I sing back.

He glances over at me and raises an eyebrow, only the way Baz can. “I'm not jealous," he states confidently.

“You were.” I counter.

“You’re delusional.” He snaps.

“You don’t need to—”

“ _Bunce_. I don’t think we’ve reached this level in our relationship.” He goes back to his book, feigning boredom.

“Seriously, Baz, Simon is madly in love with you.”

He quickly looks back over to me, debating if he should indulge in this conversation. “I _know_ he is,” he deadpans.

“So,” I say, “what’s the problem then?”

He doesn’t respond right away. He is acting like he hasn’t heard me. I sigh and go back to making my tea.

I barely hear his voice over the sound of the kettle. “She was talking to him like he was an idiot for dating me. Like I was dangerous.” His voice catches a little. I think he is actually hurt. I wince at the memory of me screaming at him to get out, thinking exactly what Agatha had— that he had caused Simon pain.

I glance over to the couch again, Baz has sunk into the cushions. His eyes are focused on the top of Simon’s curls, his own hair gently tucked behind his ear. He is chewing on the inside of his mouth, and it makes him look vulnerable. I don’t want to spook him. I want him to keep talking. It is like trying to coax a fawn out of the forest. I wait patiently for him to continue.

“I feel like I always have to justify myself. I get it, he's Simon Snow. He's beloved by all, and I'm not. But, do you know what it feels like to have people assume you're hurting the one person you care most about in this world?”

It's a rhetorical question. He knows I don't. People don't label me a monster.

“ _Baz_.” I say. I realize my mistake when his features harden. I’ve made my voice too expressive, he can hear me handling him.

“I don’t need your pity, _Bunce_.” He hisses.

I sigh in frustration. Baz never makes it easy, and sometimes I wonder why I even bother trying.

“I wasn’t going to give you any,” I snap back, “but, I think you should know that no one, and I mean no one, not even Agatha, is ever going to be good enough now. Not to mention, Agatha and Simon were never a good match. She doesn’t want Simon back. She just feels like she needs to be protective. He was a big part of her life.”

He snorts. “Of course they never matched, she was always too good for him.” He is trying to sound arrogant, trying to maintain the illusion of not needing Simon. But, I know him too well now. I know everything he just said is a lie, that he really meant Agatha was never good enough for Simon, and that it has killed him since fifth year to see them together.

I pick my words carefully. “You and Simon match in a way Agatha and Simon never did.”

He touches the side of Simon’s face before pulling his hand back. He looks at me guiltily, he doesn’t like to show how tender he can be. He shakes his head and makes his voice almost impossible to hear. “I don’t think I deserve him.”

“You do.”

“No one believes that.”

“I do. And Simon does. He loves you and so do I. I mean, I don’t love you, but I like you. I would miss you if you weren’t around.”

He makes a face, but I hold up my hand. “ _No_. Before you go and say something snarky, and ruin my decision to be nice to you, just remember you’re not the only one who knows illegal spells.”

He laughs quietly. “You can be terrifying Bunce, you know that?”

I shrug. “It's part of my charm.”

“Penny?” He asks. He rarely uses my name. It’s how I know his defenses are down.

“Yes?” I answer. I’m careful not to make my voice too soft again. I try to sound normal, like this is a standard conversation for us.

“You know I would never, right?” He doesn’t need to be specific. He is talking about a million things. He would never hurt, bite, turn, break and so on. Not when it comes to Simon. I know that.

“I know.” I sigh. “Baz, Simon is my best friend, you know he will always come first. I would protect him with my life, and I would kill you without hesitation if I needed to—”

Baz doesn’t flinch. He looks over to me, his gaze calm, there is a mutual understanding between us when it comes to Simon. We know where we stand.

“But, I think you should also know that I would do the same for you.” I take a deep breath, and before I can stop them, a thousand thoughts come tumbling out of my mouth, quickly and urgent. Like this is the only opportunity I will ever have to say them.

“I would protect you with everything I have. And I wouldn’t do it just because Simon loves you. I would do it because I care about you. And I think you and Simon are going to be okay. I am rooting for you both. Simon can be completely thick sometimes, but he couldn’t have gotten it more right than when he decided to be with you.”

I exhale quickly. The last part is important. “I’m sorry I ever thought it was you that night—because now I see that it will never be you. I will _always_ trust you with Simon. Agatha will eventually too.”

His eyes soften. “Thanks, Bunce.”

“Happy Christmas, Basil.” I say as I finish making my tea and head to my room. It isn’t Christmas yet, but I think I’ve given him the best present I can. I’ve given him my trust.

**BAZ**

Penny leaves for her room. I want to say more, to tell her how much her words mean, but I don’t quite know how to express myself. I feel overwhelmed. Simon shifts against me, a welcomed distraction and I kiss the top of his head.

“Were you really jealous?" He asks sleepily. I feel my face go hot. I thought he was sleeping, how did I miss his change in breathing?  
  
“Baz?” He says, his nose nudging against my chest.

“I was being stupid,” I exhale dismissively.

Simon laughs softly to himself. “Did you really just admit that? I think I'm still asleep.”

I suppress my own smile. He melts me every single time. He props his chin on my chest, and looks up into my eyes. “Baz, you know you have nothing to worry about.”

I shake my head. “I know. But, Agatha has a point, you are broken. What if you being interested in me is just part of that? What happens when you realize one day that we were never supposed to be together? I never thought I would get this with you.”

Simon frowns and tries to pull himself up closer to my face. I slide on the couch to meet him halfway. “Baz, that doesn’t make any sense.” He looks concerned, a crease forming between his eyes.

”Yes it does," I explain, "you loved Agatha. You probably still do in some way. Your heart was still warm with thoughts of her when you decided you were going to kiss me. And then everything happened, and you broke, and I feel like maybe I'm nothing more than a consequence of a trauma.”

He frowns more, his lips pulling down in a way that hurts to look at, so I reach out my thumb and touch the edge of his top lip. He softens his features and then nudges my hand away.

“Baz, listen, I'm not broken, and if I am, it has nothing to do with you. If anything, you’re what keeps me together, remember? _I love you_.” He drops his head to my neck and buries his face in the space between my shoulder and ear.

“Snow, how can you be sure?” I ask. I should tell him I love him back, like a regular person with a half a soul would. But, I don't. Because I don’t get it. How can he possibly be sure when I’m positive even one small variant would mean I wouldn’t be here with him right now. Not like this.

He sighs, exasperated, and pulls his head away from me, trying to think through his words. I kiss the frown on his lips. I don’t want him to get overwhelmed. 

“Baz, I know everyone thinks I am an idiot—”

“ _Simon–”_

 “ _Let me finish_ ,” he cuts me off sharply. “I know everyone thinks I'm an idiot. That I can’t figure anything out, that I'm confused easily. But when it comes to you, I have never been surer. I _was_ an idiot for not realizing everything sooner. How I felt about you. It’s always been there. I’ve always had this list of everything that drives me fucking mad about you. But, when I kissed you, I realized it was actually a list of everything I love about you.”

I smirk. “Must have been one hell of a kiss for you to realize all that.”

He growls. “Shut up. Merlin, you still drive me fucking mad.”

I go to open my mouth, to say something witty, but he presses his lips against mine, and suddenly I can’t form a single coherent thought.

When he pulls back, his cheeks are slightly flushed, and my hands are miraculously wound in his hair.

He grins. “ _Baz_ ,” he whispers. “With us, it's always going to be more. More than…than _everything_. And I'm planning on loving you this much always.”

He presses a kiss to my lips again. He keeps mumbling against my mouth. “You’re my endgame now. I'm going to love you so much you won’t have room for anything else.”

“Snow,” I tease, because I can’t bring myself to say anything serious. If I do, I’m certain I’ll ask him to marry me right now. Fuck. I don’t even believe in marriage. But, here is Snow, saying things instead of leaving them poetically unsaid, and all I want to do is profess my love in the most clichéd way possible.

“ _Simon_.” He corrects.

I grin against his lips. “What happened to you not being able to use words?”

He laughs and pulls back, so his blue eyes are looking into mine. He is looking at me like I’ve hung the moon. My heart beats harder, because I realize I believe every word he has said, because I want so desperately for it all to be true.

He pushes his nose against my jaw and rubs back and forth before letting his lips fall against mine. We stay pressed together for what feels like an infinity.

I am in too deep, because I know even forever with Simon will never be enough.


	13. The concert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading!
> 
> Warning: mild sexual content in this chapter and a bit more in the next.

**BAZ**

A week later we all make the cold walk to the concert venue fifteen minutes from Snow and Bunce's flat. Simon keeps grasping my hand tighter every few steps, bracing himself against me as his feet slip on the icy streets.

I grit my teeth as Agatha reaches for Simon's arm, pulling him from me. Apparently, she seems to think I'm not capable of holding up my own boyfriend. I bite my cheek hard to keep from saying anything. I'm trying to be good natured... and all that horrible bull.

It's going to be a long night.

“I _really_ think you would love California!” Agatha says to Simon as we reach the venue. It's the fourth time she's said it since we started walking. I contain a snort. Simon would _hate_ California. I shouldn't need to point this out to everyone, least of all Simon, who is nodding along like he could, perhaps, enjoy blazing sun and vegan tacos.

Agatha squeals and recognizes some of her Normal friends as we make our way inside. She tries to bring Penny and Simon over to them, but they both shake their head. I consider spelling her as she swishes her hair on her way to her friends. Bunce, the clever fox, touches my arm lightly.

"You can't do magic in here." She says, simply.

I raise an eyebrow at her. She raises one back, and I nearly smile.

"Drinks?" Simon asks. He squeezes my hand before gently pushing his way through the crowded room to the bar. Out of habit I let my eyes wander with him as he walks. I rarely let him out of my sight anymore, which is something I try not to be obvious about. He would be mortified if he knew. Without looking, I know Bunce is doing the same thing beside me.

Simon gets to the bar and leans against the counter, running his fingers through his tousle of curls as he smiles. He isn’t even smiling _at_ someone, but within seconds the bartender has pushed his way over to him. Seriously, he is like a bloody magnet for people. I watch as he orders, an easy laugh floats across the room and the bartender’s entire face lights up in response. I frown even more. 

“I see Simon has made another new friend.” Bunce whispers, leaning closer to me, even though it's not necessary with my hearing. She should know this.

“I mean, how does he do it? We haven’t even been here five minutes and someone is already smitten with him.” I don't mean to voice my internal thoughts, and I certainly don't mean to make it loud enough for Bunce to hear. She shrugs. “You of all people should know, we are all moths to the burning flame that is Simon.”

I snort. “I didn’t know you were a poetry major, Bunce.”

I don’t tell her that I’ve described Simon exactly the same way before—we are all helpless to his pull.

It doesn’t make it any easier to watch _other_ people get drawn in though.

Simon starts making his way back to us, carefully balancing three drinks, _completely_ oblivious that the bartender is still smiling at him. He's good looking, I'll give him that. He looks exactly like the kind of man you would want to spend a few hours flirting with to get free drinks. Tall, dark, sharp jaw, ink spreading down his arms. He is also way too old to be looking at Simon like that. My fangs burn against my gums as I narrow my eyes at him. I'm sure if I could read minds I would already be ripping his throat out.

“ _Baz."_ Penny thwarts my arm. "Rein it in.” She hisses. 

I’ve changed my stance without noticing. Chest forward, hand hovering over my wand.

 _Not the time,_ I remind myself.

I don't actually know what he is thinking. He might be perfectly nice, with perfectly pure thoughts about Simon. He cocks his head to the side, finally noticing me. He grins, licking his lips as his eyes roam a path towards Simon's back, slipping his gaze to what I happen to know is a _very_ rewarding view.

Likely not so nice.

Simon trips on his last step. He really shouldn’t have been the one to get our drinks, and not just because he now has a grown-ass man looking at him like he's just been promised a blowjob in the bathroom later. Half of my gin and tonic doesn't make it, and Penny’s wine is dribbling down Simon's hand as he hands it to her.

I raise my eyebrow at him.

“The bartender gave me a round of shots for free!” Simon says, excitedly, as he unloads three shot glasses that were tucked against his side onto the high table beside us. 

“Did he also ask for your number?”

He drops his smile and shakes his head. “What? No? Why would he?”

I keep my voice flat, “Why would he give you a free round of shots?”

Simon shrugs like it is obvious. “Because we went to the same primary school."

"So?" I ask, because that doesn't really seem like a reason to give someone free drinks.

Simon's eyebrows crease. "It's rare... meeting someone related to my life before." He says quietly.

" _Before_? Crowley, Snow. You weren't even born when he was at primary. Unless you told him you're a mage, I'm still not sure how free drinks was anything but his way of asking you to take off your trousers." 

Simon blushes, furiously. " _Was_ a mage _,_ " he corrects. "And no. I didn't tell him. It's just, you know, he was in care too. It's a thing, I guess? Like, if you met another mage, you'd buy 'em a drink."

I wouldn't.

Penny looks at Simon in disbelief. "How did you manage to start talking about being in care? You were gone for less than five minutes.”

He beams, like he has finally bested her. “Penny," his voice comes out in a drawl, "while I may not excel at spells, or maths, or words in general, I'm an excellent conversationalist—”

I laugh. “Snow, you _need_ to be good with words to be an excellent—”

Snow cuts me off. “ _Oi_! This is what I mean. I listen, Baz. And I don’t interrupt. It's all about listening. You’d be surprised what people will tell you if you sit quietly and listen.”

Penny pushes her glasses into her nose. “Who has the energy for that?”

“Exactly how many stories from strangers do you have stored up here?” I ask, my fingers tapping against Simon's temple.

He laughs and pushes my hand away. “Seriously, you and Penny are so much alike it’s terrifying sometimes.”

I look over to Penny who laughs. I grin. “It could be worse, I could be like _you_ , Snow.”

He starts laughing loudly, his laugh that is completely mine, the one I don’t have to share. He leans his head against my shoulder and buries his face into my chest. I wrap one arm around him and rest my chin on top of his head. I remind myself that I came here for him, because I love him and he loves whatever band we are seeing. I brush my lips against his hair, and let the warmth of his body sink into me. I am starting to feel better about being here, until Agatha comes back. She doesn’t even try to hide her disapproval at seeing Simon curled into me.

“Are they always like this?” She sounds irritated.

Penny looks over at us. “Yes, you get used to it.”

“I think I might need a drink first.”

**SIMON**

I don’t think any of us meant to get drunk. It just sort of happened. It was awkward— standing waiting for the band to start. We all needed something to do with our hands, to fill the clumsy silence with chatter about drinks, and asking if anyone wanted another. It didn’t help that every time I went to get the drinks the bartender would give me more free shots.

He did also eventually try to give me his number.

“What’s this?” I had asked stupidly.

He had rolled his brown eyes at me. “My number, _Simon_.” (Probably shouldn't have told him my real name.)

I felt an anxious pit in my stomach. I was uncomfortable and gracelessly trying to hold drinks and a napkin. “Sorry, I have a boyfriend.” I had pushed the napkin back at him, but he didn’t take it.

“Just in case.”

_In case what?_

My face grew hot. He was supposed to take it back. I kicked myself for being so terrible at this, whatever _this_ was.

“I… I don’t want it?” It came out like a question. I was trying not to be overly rude, because he did seem very nice. (I'm just not interested. Obviously.)

“Are you sure?” He winked at me and leaned closer on the counter. (Merlin and Morgana, I swear I attract awkward situations.)

“Um, yes. I'm very happy, thank you.”

I heard a loud snort behind me. When I had turned around Baz was standing inches from me. “Crowley, Snow. That is _not_ how you get someone to back down, you don’t fucking say thank you.”

He proceeded to glare at the bartender. “He said he _wasn’t_ interested.” It came out slowly, cool.

The bartender had pointed his finger at Baz, “Why don’t _you_ mind your own business?”

I stepped in front of Baz automatically. I knew he was seconds away from lunging. “No, no it’s okay. This is my boyfriend," I had stammered.

“Good luck, Simon,” he said as I started dragging Baz back towards our table. He was laughing when he said it.

“Not a word.” I hissed at Baz.

He was practically singing, “I _fucking_ told you!”

I groaned. “I said not a bloody word.”

When we got back to our spot Baz held out his hand to Penny who rolled her eyes and gave him a tenner. I had raised my eyebrow at him. “Bunce had more faith in you than I did. I said you needed rescuing.”

“I did _not_ need rescuing.”

“Simon, you couldn’t even manage to give him his number back.”

“I didn’t want to be rude.”

He had laughed at me and pulled me into a hug. I wasn’t expecting it. He whispered against my ear so only I could hear, “I did like when you told him you were happy.”

“Okay, cut it out you two.” Penny wrinkled her nose at us.

I had pulled away grinning.

But that was at least three drinks ago, and I can already feel my mind blurring from the alcohol. I try very hard to focus on what everyone is saying. Penny is talking about cats, or no, that doesn’t seem right. It is so loud. I just nod my head along in a way I hope looks serious.

_Ah, yes. Cats. Wait, are we getting a cat? No, that can’t be right either. I would like a cat, I think. We could call it Snowflake! Or Mittens. Classic cat names._

I erupt into laughter thinking of Baz calling for _Snow_ and both me and a white cat looking at each other wondering who he was calling for. Penny looks at me. I stop laughing. I think she may have asked me a question.

I hear Baz snicker behind me. "Snow can’t drink _and_ focus, you’ll need to ask again.”

_Damn it._

“I _said_ do you want to come to my parents for New Years?”

“Oh, yes… No cat then?”

They all look at me like I am insane. Like I never make sense. They might have a point.

**AGATHA**

The band finally comes on stage, and for a moment I forget their name. Oh gods, I didn’t realize how much I had to drink. The crowd goes loud and starts to clap. I try to clap but it just feels so strange, instead I burst into giggles. It reminds me of the time we all got drunk on fairy juice—minus Baz, he was still the villain then— now, well now I don’t know what he is.

_Simon’s boyfriend._

Nope. Still sounds too weird. I am going to have to have a chat with Simon about this, if I can remember tomorrow.

Penny slams into me and I lurch forward, spilling my drink on the person in front of me. I turn to yell at Penny, but I stop mid-breath. Penelope Bunce is _dancing_. Like, completely crazy, _I-don't-give-a-fuck,_ dancing. Her hands are in the air and her hair is flying around in a mess of curls. She grabs for Simon’s good arm and pulls him forward, they both burst out laughing and start dancing together.

I stare past them to Baz. He looks uncomfortable. I used to think we would be a good set, both of us from respectable bloodlines with excellent genes and breeding— we are poised, magical, and graceful. We would look elegant and refined, like an old movie. He raises an eyebrow at me, like he used to. I feel myself grow warm, but I am not sure why. I look away and try to cut into Penny and Simon’s dance party.

Even drunk my moves are dipped in ballet. I can’t help it, it is just how I think, how I move. I know we look outrageous, and something just doesn’t feel right. I need someone who matches me, someone who knows what a plie is. I take a graceful step toward Baz, who is leaning against a table like he is James Dean. Before I can think it through I reach out my hand and wrap my fingers around his wrist. His skin is cool, even though everyone else in the room is covered in sweat. It feels nice, like smooth marble.

I keep my hand wrapped around his wrist; Penny and Simon are bouncing behind me yelling out lyrics. I let the music fill my soul as I start to sway my hips. It isn’t like I think it will do anything, I mean, I know he is gay. But still, part of me wants to figure out where I stand. I want to soften him just a little. Because I used to think he was interested in me, in some way, however small, he must have been.

“Wellbelove, what the hell are you doing?” He sounds unimpressed.

“Dancing,” it comes out like a whisper. _Why am I doing this_?

He pulls back his wrist and glares at me. Simon is at Baz's side in a second. “Agatha?” He only says my name, but his face is twisted. He always thought Baz was trying to get between us. But this time he is upset with me, for touching _his_ boyfriend. It is a weird turn of events. Maybe it was Baz all along he didn’t want to lose.

Baz doesn’t take his grey eyes off my face. It feels like there is nothing but hatred in his gaze. Simon lightly touches his hand. It is all it takes for him to snap out of his scowl. He turns his face to meet Simon’s.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Simon is already pulling him forward, back toward Penny and away from me. Baz doesn’t protest—he goes soft.

All three of them forget about me. I stand alone, slightly too far away, still moving my hips in time to the music.

I realize I'm nothing more than a passing guest in their lives.

I'm not sure how I feel about that. If I'm jealous. Upset. _Relieved._

**BAZ**

I watch as Simon dances, his moves frantic, his voice hoarse as he yells out another set of lyrics to Bunce. He's had a stupid grin plastered to his face since the band started.

Despite not being able to dance (he isn’t even moving in time with the music) I can’t stop looking. He is glowing. His body is electric, my own body feeling every pulse. Even in the washed out stage lights, even in a sea of people, he is the brightest thing here. Even without his magic his pull is hypnotic. He looks alive, and I can’t stop watching.

_I am still so in love with him._

**SIMON**

The music is unbelievably loud, I can feel it vibrating in my chest— I _love_ it. Penny and I haven’t stopped dancing since the band started playing. My t-shirt clings to my flushed, sweaty skin. It's way too hot in here.

Agatha pouts as Penny shouts at me. Which, I am currently fine with since drunken Agatha appears to like touching Baz. I caught her grabbing his wrist and hoping for, well I am not sure what she was hoping for, but she looked like she wanted something to happen. She's by herself now, moving her hips slightly, like she is dancing to something entirely different in her own head. She probably is doing the fucking nutcracker ballet.

I glance at Baz. He gave up dancing after a minute. I think I may have accidentally smacked him in the face. Although, I feel like he would have told me if I had. I frown at him, worried. He looks like he is in pain. He catches my eye and tries to smile. And then I remember, his ears! Not that I forgot them, but that he can hear when a pin drops, so this must sound like hell to him. I reach into my pocket for the earplugs I brought. I can’t believe I forgot to give them to him.

I turn around to face him and grin stupidly. He raises an eyebrow at me as I offer the earbuds up to him, small and green in my hand.

**BAZ**

Simon appears to be offering me some weird fucking green drugs. Or so I think, until I realize he is offering me earplugs. I didn’t think it was possible to love him even more than I already do, but I am constantly proving myself wrong. I grin as I put them in. The relief is immediate. I can actually hear my own thoughts again. 

Simon tilts his head up and kisses me on the jaw. His body is radiating heat, and his hair is thick with sweat. He has never looked more stunning.

I get an irresistible urge to lick his glistening neck (proving that earplugs are apparently the easiest way to get into my pants). I grab the back of his head and pull his mouth to mine. Our kiss is sloppy. _Perfect_. I indulge myself and dip my head to his neck, letting my lips rest against his collarbone. He tangles his good hand in my hair and pulls. I lick from his collarbone to his ear. Simon groans. He tastes like salt _and_ sugar. I want to keep licking him, licking until he is nothing but a trembling heap under my tongue.

(Because I am _very_ disturbed.)

Who enjoys licking a sweaty person? Although, to be fair, I bet everyone would enjoy licking Simon. I have an overwhelming sense of pride as I pull back to look at his face. _But only I get to lick you._ He looks up at me from under his mess of curls. He looks shy, desperate... _turned on._ Or maybe he just looks drunk?

He leans in closer to me and drops his hand to my waist.

“I think you should do that more.” His voice is growling. It is making me shift from foot to foot. I want to leave, _now_.

“Do what?” It comes out like liquid. I already know what he means. I want him to say it.

“Lick me.”

Oh Crowley, I want to leave.

I lean into him, his hand pressed to my waist still and push my hips forward slightly. I press my lips to his ear and carefully pull his earlobe between my teeth. I give a small nip. He squeezes my hip in response, his nails digging into my skin. I release his earlobe and murmur against him, “Snow, I'm going to lick every single inch of you as soon as we get home.” The music is still so loud; I can feel it beating in my chest. But I can also feel his heartbeat, quick and uneven in front of me, like he's nervous.

He leans back against me and brings his lips to my ear. “I want you," he whispers.

He only says three simple words. Nothing particularly expressive, or moving, and yet I think I must be crumbling into nothing but ash because his voice is molten swirling in my brain. Hearing Simon Snow say he wants me is quite possibly the only thing I’ve ever needed in my entire life.

**SIMON**

By the time we leave the concert it has started to snow. I welcome the feel of the cold air and tip my head up to catch the falling snow on my face. It instantly melts, leaving collections of cold water across my burning skin.It helps, but not enough. My skin is still simmering. Baz won’t stop looking at me, _really_ looking at me, like he is already picturing me naked. At this point I think I might actually be permanently stained red from blushing.

I catch his eye and he winks at me. I look down and bury my head into my scarf. I don’t know how to react. I feel like a mess. He is making me nervous, and the bastard knows it. He loves it too; he is practically prancing beside me. His stupid perfect hair is filled with snow (the flakes last a little longer on his cool skin) and it makes him look majestic—like something someone would write a bloody sonnet about. It isn’t helping the situation.

“Can you _stop_?” I whisper fiercely.

He turns to walk backward, even though there is ice everywhere. He doesn’t miss a step. “I'm not doing anything,” he laughs.

I narrow my eyes as he sidesteps a particularly nasty patch of ice. _Arrogant twat._  

"You know you are." I growl.

He shakes his head. "I'm really not, Snow."

“Yes you are! You're looking at me like I'm _naked_!” I shout it slightly louder than I mean to. He makes a sound I’ve never heard before, an uninhibited laugh that bubbles from his throat.

Penny and Agatha both look back at us. I bush, so hard it actually hurts. I can feel the heat on my skin. I don’t meet anyone’s eye.

Baz stops laughing long enough to reach for my hand. He weaves it through mine and rubs his thumb along my knuckles.

I keep my eyes narrowed.

The contact is still making me blush.

I'm relieved when we finally reach our building. I let go of Baz's hand to hold open the door for everyone.

Agatha stops. “Penny?” Her voice is small.

“What?”

“I sort of forgot I drove here. I can’t drive home.”

"I figured." Penny says, casually.

Agatha still doesn't move.

“We have a couch.” I offer as encouragement. It's bloody freezing outside.

Baz is already in the entrance way, one foot on the stairs, his lips pressed together tightly.

“Agatha, seriously,” I say, when she still doesn't make any effort to come inside. “You can spend the night. None of us can drive you, and it is too late to be taking a cab yourself.” Baz could probably drive her. He didn’t drink as much as the rest of us, and I am pretty sure he needs to drink a barrel of anything to feel it. But I don’t make the suggestion, because he is already stepping from foot to foot, impatient and annoyed.

“ _Merlin and Morgana_ , Agatha. Get your arse upstairs!” Penny shouts.

Agatha’s response is icy. “I'm assuming Baz is spending the evening?”

“Your assumption is correct.” Baz keeps his voice surprisingly indifferent.

“Fine.” It isn’t really a response, only a word. But, Agatha finally moves past Penny and starts walking up the stairs, ahead of Baz. She looks miserable. I look back to Penny and raise an eyebrow at her. “Oh how should I bloody know, Simon? She's always been like this.”

“I can hear _you_.” Agatha shouts back at us.

Did she think we were going to magically spell her home or something? If she didn’t want to spend the night she shouldn’t have drank.

Penny starts laughing as Agatha stomps louder.

**PENNY**

By the time we reach our unit Agatha is already standing with her arms crossed leaning by the door. Baz pushes by her and holds her gaze while he uses his key. He smirks as he walks by, her mouth hanging open.

“You just let him walk in _whenever_ he wants.” She hisses loudly to me. I think she was trying to whisper.

“Great snakes, Agatha, not only can Baz hear you I'm pretty sure the entire building can.” I close the door behind us.

“Why wouldn’t he walk in whenever he wants, he is my boyfriend.” Simon’s voice is too high, the way it always gets when he has more than one glass of alcohol.

“Gee, I don’t know Simon, maybe because he has _fangs_.”

“Would you like to see them, Agatha?” Baz sneers.

Simon turns around. “Not helping.”

Baz shrugs. “I wasn’t trying to help.”

“Can you all just stop? Agatha—Baz is welcome here whenever he wants. Simon—don’t get so upset. Baz— don’t be, well—yourself. _Stop_ _sneering_.” I press my fingers to my temples. I can already feel a headache. It is like having bloody children.

Simon touches my arm. “I’ll make us some mint tea, yeah?” I smile at him. (If they were my children Simon would be my favourite. He knows my theory on mint tea being able to cure everything.)

“Well, as much fun as this has been, I'm going to bed. And don’t worry, _Wellbelove_ , I’ll be sure to control myself.” He sneers again, adding in a wink as he walks to the bathroom.

_Bloody tosser._

Agatha flops down on the couch while Simon goes to the kitchen.

“I just want you to be careful.” She says it quietly. I am not sure if she is talking to Simon or me.

Simon answers for both of us. “Agatha, you need to get over whatever this is. Baz wouldn’t hurt us.”

“I want to believe that—but I don’t think even Baz understands what it means to be a vampire. How much control does he really have over his actions?”

 I think of how he reacted when Roman offered him Simon’s blood. His face twisted in pain as he resisted his blood lust, as he resisted the very core of being a vampire. It makes me pity him, which he would hate. But I trust him completely when it comes to Simon (now anyway).

Simon is quiet. I can hear the kettle, smell the mint from the tea as he pours water into mugs.

“Simon?” Agatha starts.

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Simon says as he picks up his tea.

He shakes his head and hands me my mug. We all have our own special cups for tea. Mine is a horrendous shade of purple with a _Pride and Prejudice_ quote painted in sloppy letters —“you have bewitched me, body and soul.” I am not even sure Simon knew who Jane Austen was when he bought it. Baz’s mug is black with a cartoon painting of Mozart. And Simon’s is, of course, blue with snowflakes.

He actually picked them out a few months ago, when he was finally feeling well enough to leave the flat. He came home overly excited about these terribly painted mugs he had found in a market. I can’t bring myself to use anything else for tea when he is around. Baz uses his every single day, even if Simon isn’t home.

“Agatha,” I say to her gently, “another time.” I grab extra pillows and blankets from my room and hand them to her.

She starts to make herself a bed on the couch, but she doesn’t let the topic drop. “I just think you haven’t really thought about it. I mean, he is going to be alive longer than you, and he has different needs. What if he wants to turn you? What if he bites you during sex?”

“He wouldn’t.” Simon says.

“You don’t know that for sure. Maybe he wouldn’t want to, but that isn’t the same thing. It isn’t enough.”

“It is more than enough for me.”

“ _Simon_ ,” Agatha scolds, “I just don’t think you are being realistic about this.”

“Agatha,” I cut in fiercely. “ _Enough_. Go to bed.”

“Penny, this is important.” She matches my tone.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, because he knows I'm right.”

“ _No,_ you aren’t." Simon raises his voice, his fists curling angrily around his mug.

Agatha snorts, tossing out her hair. “Really? So when he says to you, ‘Simon, please let me bite you,’ what the hell are you going to do?”

**SIMON**

I don’t even hesitate. I hold her gaze.

“Easy. I fucking let him.” I snap.

I walk out of the room with my tea— my voice is still ringing in my ears. I try not to notice the wide-eyed look Penny shoots at me.

**AGATHA**

“That is exactly the problem!” I shout after him, but he doesn’t turn around.

Penny is scolding me again. “ _Agatha_. Leave him alone.”

I sink into the cushions. “You’re all enablers.”

Penny snorts and huffs to her room. “One bloody psych course and you think you’re the next Freud.” She slams her door before I can respond.

Baz strolls out of the bathroom. I know he heard everything. I wanted him too. He has just as much responsibility in all of this. I keep my eyes on him, and he stares directly back. He doesn’t say a word; I can see the muscles of his jaw clenching though.

Let him hate me.

He closes Simon’s door behind him.


	14. Another first

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this a long very drawn out SnowBaz scene with zero impact on the plot, but I couldn't help myself. I essentially just wrote each of them thinking how perfect the other one is about 100 different times because these two being in love is the best thing ever.
> 
> Warning: sexual content in this one (nothing too descriptive).

**SIMON**

I am angrier than I have been in months. My skin feels hot and flustered, even by the open window (I had to open it, even if it means flak from Penny in the morning). I hear the door open softly, but it doesn’t sound like anyone enters my room.

I know it’s Baz, because no one else can move that quietly. I feel a slight chill at my back and then his arms are slowly wrapping around me. I shiver a little.

“All right, love?” He murmurs into my shirt.

“Yes.” My voice sounds shaky, nervous and angry— angry because of Agatha, nervous because of Baz. I am not sure why I am so nervous. Maybe because I know he heard what I said, and maybe because I meant it. I’ve never said he could bite me before, and it changes things. I know it does.

He presses his lips against the back of my neck and we rock back and forth, his arms tight around me. We stay silent for a few minutes. I know he is waiting for me to collect my thoughts.

“She has no right.” I still sound shaky. I hate that I can’t make my voice steady.

“I know.”

“She doesn’t know anything about you...or _us_.”

“Did you mean it?” He asks gently. I turn to face him. I can make out the paleness of his skin against the light of the moon, the sharp lines of his face that I know better than my own.

I tilt my head up and kiss under his chin before I answer. “Yes.”

He sighs lightly. “You shouldn’t have meant it.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t safe.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me. I wouldn't let you if I thought you would hurt me.”

“No, I wouldn’t _want_ to hurt you. It doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t. Or worse, I could turn you.”

“Why do you always do that?” My voice is too high.

“Do what?”

“Try to convince me you are some terrible monster.”

“I'm just saying, I could. Agatha is right. There is no guarantee I could control myself. You should understand that, it's important that you do.”

“I would still let you.”

He breathes against my hair. “I would never ask. You need to understand that too. Never. I don’t want that with you, _ever_.”

I frown. “What?”

“You’re my boyfriend, Snow. Not my blood bag. Not a toy. Not something for me to use whenever I feel an urge or a thirst. There’s a difference. A line. Any other line, I’ll cross for you. Repeatedly. But, this one? No. Never.” His voice has gone quiet and bitter. He’s thinking things I don’t want him to. Things that make me think of a forest on fire. And I know he's told me he doesn't have a death wish, but sometimes I worry. Sometimes I'm not sure I believe him.

I step closer to him. “ _Okay_." I say. "We won’t cross that line. But, you need to stop thinking you’re some terrible monster. Stop punishing yourself for something you haven’t done.”

He shakes his head gently. “It’s not that simple. I could do it, you know. I could. I need to remind myself of that, so I don’t slip. So I don’t toe too close to that line.”

I sigh. “Baz. You’re impossible to convince of anything.”

He smirks. “You managed to convince me to date you.”

I laugh. “Like you weren’t desperately in love with me already.”

He shrugs. “Not nearly as much as you seem to think. You’re getting cocky, Snow.”

I grin and rest my head against his shoulder.

“Dance with me?” Baz whispers quietly against my hair.

I nod.

He moves his hands to my waist as I lift my good hand up to his shoulder. I look to his eyes. Beautiful. Grey. _Soft_. Eyes that don't match the dark creature he tries to convince everyone he is.

He moves his head so my lips meet his.

We dance by the window, under the cover of moonlight. He leads, as always. We take small steps around my room. It is nothing fancy, because he knows I wouldn’t be able to keep up. But our lips never part and our own song is playing in our heads. It is the song of Simon and Baz. Destined to be more than enemies, more than lovers, always more.

He runs his hands under my shirt and traces a pattern over the scars of my back.

“Baz?”

“Mmm?”

I can’t shake the feeling in the pit of my stomach. We are just dancing; touching in a way we have a million times before, but something feels different. Baz feels different.

“I think I'm nervous.” It is a stupid thing to say. I don’t know why I do.

He pulls back a little and looks into my eyes. “Good or bad?” He whispers.

“Good.”

“Are you drunk?” He asks suspiciously. I am not sure what will happen if I say ‘yes’. I don’t feel drunk anymore. I am not exactly sober, but I don’t feel blurry or unstable. I just feel nervous. He is making me nervous, and I don’t want him to stop— stop whatever it is he is about to start.

“No.”

“Okay.” His voice is soft, softer than I thought he could make it.

**BAZ**

I move slowly, tracing my hands up and down his back. I keep my eyes on his as I give his shirt a gentle tug. He nods, and I awkwardly help him out of it, making sure his arm is still secure in his sling. He’s mostly healed now (Penny and I sometimes pour a little extra healing magic into his body when he is sleeping), but I am still cautious of putting too much pressure on him. I don't want to hurt him. He looks down and rubs the back of his neck. He really does look nervous.

I start to feel an anxious tug in my stomach. Maybe I read everything wrong? Surely, this isn't what he wants right now? I feel vulnerable, even though I am fully clothed. Waiting for Simon to react is like getting the wind knocked out of you. I hold my breath, waiting for it to come back to me. Finally, he looks up at me and his eyes are _alive, alive, alive._

I grin, releasing the breath I was holding.

“Baz?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t move.”

“What?”

“Just don’t move until I say so, okay?”

“But what if—“

“No. Nothing. No movement. No hands. No kisses.”

He steps toward me and keeps his eyes locked on mine. Blue to grey. I exhale as he lifts his hand to my neck and gently runs his fingers down to my collarbone. He stays perfectly still, his hand lightly resting on me.

I feel a tug in my muscles; I try to stay motionless, as instructed. I can’t do it. A restless energy pulses through me as I bounce on my toes. I want to pounce, take him to the ground, make good on my promise to lick every inch of him.

He knows how I feel, too.

He holds my gaze, steady, calm, hiding the nerves he so easily admitted to seconds ago.

When he steps a little closer, it takes all of my control not to push into him. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, the pull of Simon, almost like he still has magic. He draws me in, constantly. He lets his fingers run down my shirt, and I watch the muscle in his shoulder roll. I picture biting him (not hard, not breaking his skin), right on the movement. I am dying to taste him; sweet, salty, warm.

He pauses his fingers on my hip and starts to drum. He smells so fucking good right now. He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips gently to the skin over my throat. He slowly hums out words against me. “I want you,” he says, shakily, suddenly displaying his nerves again. His voice is heavy on my skin; it makes me feel alive.

I go to lift a hand to him, thinking I must be able to move now. I'm wrong. He nips my neck as my fingers reach for his hair.

I laugh, but he nips again.

This time my breath hitches, my skin burning under his teeth, my insides fighting a fire as he traces his fingers along the curve of my hip.

“Simon.” My voice is weak, pleading.

He lets out a soft laugh. “ _Patience_ ,” he buzzes against me.

The word ignites inside me.

It makes me want more, especially when his fingers carefully slip into the waistband of my jeans. Somehow, and with more dexterity than I thought Snow was capable of, he unfastens the top button. He starts to kiss lower on my neck, moving to my chest, kissing through my shirt. He shifts, kissing lower and lower until he is on his knees. I don’t dare look down. I think I must be dreaming. I spent years picturing Simon Snow on his knees in front of me. I can feel him looking up at him, feel his breath against the top of my abdomen. I refuse to look, convinced that if I do I will wake up from this moment.

Simon laughs again, the same soft sound. He starts to tug on either side of my jeans. It's a much less graceful movement. I nearly topple over as he tugs aggressively, and yet I feel a surge of fondness. I don’t know how he makes me feel like this. How he can possibly make me love him for not being able to get my damn trousers off.

I try to help him. I move my hands again, but he bites at my thigh in response. I don’t know if it is a vampire thing, but every single time Simon uses his teeth it feels like he's pushed a current into me. It can’t possibly feel this good for anyone else— how could they survive it? I contain a moan as he keeps sucking on the skin at my thigh, no doubt trying to distract me. I'm fine with the distraction.

He trails his hand down the outside of one leg and up the inside of the other. I'm not sure which is more unbearable; his fingertips that feel like fire against the inside of my thigh, or the storm of bruises he's leaving in his wake as he traces his tongue over the spot his fingers were a moment ago. I can hear him contain a laugh as I bounce lightly on my toes.

He kisses my hip, gently, before tugging on my pants. (They slide down much easier than my jeans.) I inhale sharply as Simon grips me in his hand, his breath still hot against me. The bastard grins and releases just as quickly as he grabbed me. It takes all of my control to not whine in protest. (Or to pummel him for that particular move.)

Simon stands up, he's all broad shoulders with an even broader grin. “How difficult is this for you right now?” He asks, carding a hand through his hair lazily.

I stare at him, take in the softness of his hair, the glow of his skin, the slight flush on his chest, but don’t respond. I start to make my plan of attack— all the places I am going to touch, and kiss, and fully explore until he's nothing but a mess.

“Baz?” He steps closer to me.

I don’t dare speak. My voice would betray me in a second.

“You can move now.” He whispers, licking his lips nervously as he waits.

I feel a wicked grin creep to my lips.

 _My turn,_ I sing to myself.

**SIMON**

Baz is looking at me like he wants to eat me. I swear it's the same look he gets when he's hungry.  Surprisingly, it doesn’t bother me. Probably because I know this is a different hunger. One that makes me feel alive. One that causes heat to build just behind my navel. Baz takes a single step towards me, his head titled down. I brace for his kiss. He pulls away from my mouth at the last second, and his lips trail down to my chin instead. Only then he's gone again, the slightest of pressure against one corner of my mouth, before moving to my jaw. He keeps moving, his top lip catches on my bottom one as he drags his mouth across me. He moves from my chin up to my cheeks, across my nose, and to my ear. I have no idea what he is doing. I keep trying to catch his lips but he won’t let me.

“Baz?”

“Mmm?”

He keeps dragging his mouth; it is all I can focus on. His lips slightly parted, his breathing even. I picture his mouth wrapped around me— other parts of me he isn’t touching. I feel a ripple through my stomach, into my already twitching legs at the thought.

“I think you’re torturing me,” I whisper.

He pauses for a moment to let out a gentle laugh. “ _Correct_.” 

He brings his mouth to my neck. I tilt my head to the side as an automatic response. I let my fingers slip through his hair as he skims over my skin. I tug. Once. _Twice_. He catches my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Tell me you want me.” He says, firmly, impishly into the caverns of my collarbone.

I bring my mouth to his ear. I go slowly, pausing after each word. I tell him what he wants to hear. I tell him exactly how I feel. “ _Baz_ , I want you. _Fuck_ , I want you.”

He groans, quietly, a sound deep in his throat. He stares at me, like I am made of glass, like I spoke words laced with magic, and like I am the beautiful one; even though he has stormy eyes and looks like the fucking moon.

“Simon,” he exhales. His voice is different. It sounds like he can scarcely speak.

“Yeah?”

He presses his lips to me again, dragging down my face, pressing his nose against my cheek. I let him. I don’t know what he is doing, but I love it. It feels like slowly warming up, like finally understanding what it feels like to be alive.

He squeezes my hand tightly. “I think I'm obsessed.”

I laugh. “With me?”

“ _Yes_. You’re just…I think I'm disturbed.”

“Sorry?”

He laughs against me.

“I can’t get enough. I want to drink you.”

**BAZ**

_Fuck_.

Simon pauses, his hand loosens in mine. I didn’t mean it like _that_. But of course, it probably sounded like I did.

(You _don’t_ tell someone you want to drink them.)

I half expect him to pull away or to call for Penny. Or to punch me. I never know with Snow.

 _Fuck_.

I feel like we are suspended in time, my words still painfully hanging in the air. Crowley, I wish I could hear his thoughts. Or maybe I wouldn’t want to. My chest tightens at the thought of Simon thinking I am a monster. He should.

“Simon, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know?” He sounds confused.

“You seem concerned.”

He looks down. “No, I knew you didn’t mean it like that. I trust you, Baz. I just, I'm really fucking nervous. You’re making me nervous. Saying things like that, it makes me nervous for other reasons. Not because I am worried you are _actually_ going to drink me.”

I focus and hear his heart, fast and irregular. I love that I can make him like this, that it is me who makes Simon weak (I really am twisted.)

“We can stop?” I offer.

Selfishly I am relieved when he shakes his head no.

“No, I don’t want to. I just, you know, I want to be good… for you. I don’t really know what I am doing.”

“And you think I do?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“You must.”

I laugh. “Why?”

“Because everything you do and say turns me into a bloody mess.”

I smile again. “Really? Like this?” I run my hand through his hair and gently pull him forward so I can drag my mouth along his bare shoulders.

“ _Yes_.” The word gets stuck in his throat.

“And this?” I let my hands run down his back, tracing his scars. He shivers lightly.

“Yes.”

“This?”

I grab his hips and pull him to me. He closes his eyes.

“Simon.”

“Mmm?”

“You don’t need to be nervous. I won’t hurt you.” I feel like I have to say it. I always feel like I have to say it.

“I know.”

I nudge his jaw with my nose. “However, I still want to lick you.”

He laughs, and I feel him relax a little. “ _Good_. I was hoping you would.”

I lick up his neck to his ear. He makes the smallest of noises, his legs shaking as he leans closer to me. (He really is nervous.) “Okay?” I ask. He knows what I am asking. I am getting his permission to go further. His permission for more.

He nods his head.

"Simon, are you sure?"

His eyes find mine. " _Yes_."

I lick across his collarbone and onto his shoulder. I gently push him backward to the bed. He watches me as I pull off my shirt and drop it to the floor. He grins wickedly; a look of fire as he licks his lips.  “Merlin Baz, you’re the fucking moon,” he whispers. He reaches a hand carefully to me, his fingers splaying across my chest.

If I could blush, I would. I look down, suddenly uncomfortable. Simon reaches up to my neck, and tugs me into him so he can kiss me. His kiss is hard and deep, which is all the encouragement I need to stop worrying about how I look without a shirt. _Clearly_ , Snow is into it. He moves his head and chin, biting down on my lip. He pushes his tongue roughly into my mouth, and it is like we are trying to swallow one another, like we can’t get enough. It's still better than fighting.

I push him, a little harder than I should, down onto the bed. My control is already slipping. He grabs my waist, seemingly undisturbed, and pulls me with him so we land chest to chest. I prop myself up over him, like he did when we kissed in my room by the fire. But he doesn’t reach up to me, he doesn’t need to, because I am already pressing my mouth to his, because I never can resist. He makes me weak too, and right now I can’t be bothered to care.

Eventually, I need to pull back, at least long enough to take a deep breath. I'm breathless, but so is Snow. The bastard. I grin at him. How the hell can he go so long without air? He grins back, his hair around his head like a bronze crown. He's still beneath me. I like looking at him like this, with a beautiful rose-gold flush in his cheeks, one that makes me insanely envious. He is a fucking canvas of loveliness, a galaxy of stardust, of explosions and planets and suns. (I could keep going. Crowley, I could spew poetic musings for hours about Snow.)  I can’t stop looking at him... and I don't have to. Because Snow wants _this_. Wants _me_. Wants to give me the parts of himself he never felt he could give to others.

I stroke my thumb against his cheek, right over the fleshiest part, where his blush is most prominent.

_I would miss this flush if he Turned._

_I wonder what would happen to his freckles? I hope he wouldn't lose them.  
_

The thoughts slip into my head before I can stop them. I frown. It's not something I want to be thinking about, not something I should _ever_ be thinking about. Curiosity, I decide. I'm just curious what it would mean for him. I lost the red-golds of my skin when I Turned. I'm just curious how it works for people... that's it.

"What?" Snow whispers to me, his thumb pressing to my bottom lip.

"Nothing." I lie.  I give him a gentle kiss on his lips, his nose, and then I move away from his face. I let myself get lost in him, dislodging any coherent thoughts.

I move myself lower on the bed. I start to lick his sides, which causes his breaths to come out in shaky exhales, his hips wiggling under me. I alternate between kissing and licking. I gently nip just below his navel. He pushes up with his hips in response. I quite like his hips, I decide. I nip there next. Snow nearly knocks me in the head with his knee.

" _Sorry_." He says. Blue eyes panicked.

"Relax." I say, because I can tell he's starting to overthink. It's almost like I can feel a thickness in the air, which I think might just be a leftover pseudo response from when he had magic, from when his nervous energy was a palpable thing you could taste.

I go back to my kissing, licking, nipping exercise. It is killing me moving this slowly. I want to wreck havoc on Snow... in a way that will likely be more pleasurable for him. (Which is also what I want.) But, I also want to remember every single moment, in case one day I don’t get to do this anymore. It is a terrible thought, but I want to make this last.

I let my hands slip into his waistband. He breathes a little heavier. “You’ve managed to keep your trousers on for far too long,” I tease. He shyly smiles up at me as I carefully move my fingers to unhook the button before working the zipper down. It is still snowing outside, and the room is freezing cold, but as I slide Simon Snow’s trousers down his legs I don’t think I have ever felt warmer.

I stare at him for a few moments.

I don’t know where to start.

He's overwhelming.

There are so many places I want to touch, to kiss; too many places I have spent countless hours imagining. In the end, I drop my head at random. I land just below his ribs, which seems like just as good a place to start as any. I begin kissing every single mark I can find. Simon is still covered in scars, and bruises, and moles, and freckles. His body is far from flawless, but it is, without a doubt, absolutely perfect to me. 

I pity every other person who doesn’t get to love him like I do.

**SIMON**

It takes me a few seconds to realize Baz is targeting my scars. _Gently_. Like he's worried it might hurt to touch them. (It doesn't. I don't even notice them most of the time anymore). His lips leave a cool and soothing tingling sensation against my skin. He stops for a moment and looks up at me from my chest. I reach out my hand to brush back his hair. I will _never_ understand how I could be so thick as to think I hated him.

He is quite possibly the loveliest person I have ever seen.

“I love you.” I whisper. I should tell him more. He gives me a small smile and moves so he can kiss me on the nose. “ _Simon_ , I love you.” It feels like my chest is going to burst. The way he says it sends lightening through my veins. I am certain no one else could ever make those words sound as pretty as Baz does.

“I love you more.” I have to stifle a giggle as I say it. (Who ever thought I would be in bed— _naked_ —with Baz Pitch, arguing the depths of my love for him.)

“I know.” The tosser winks at me and goes back to kissing my scars.

It feels like hours have gone by of just laying together, him kissing me, and me melting into the sheets. I run my fingers through his hair and look at him, currently working his lips against a scar under my ribs— he is paying it more attention than the rest.

I wonder if he remembers what it is from?

He doesn’t even look up when he answers my unspoken question. (I'm still not convinced he isn't a mind reader.) “I'm making it up to you.”

I laugh, feeling the corners of his mouth tug into a grin against my skin.  “As you should. You almost bloody killed me.”

He exhales, his words dripping over me. “That time I wasn’t actually trying to.”

“You _pushed_ me down a flight of stairs.” I say, hotly. 

“I didn’t think you would fall. Or land on your sword. I probably should have known better.” He stops kissing and looks up at me. “Forgive me?”

“Maybe.” I grin mischievously.

He cocks his left eyebrow. “Perhaps I can entice you to forgive me?”

I swallow, my voice barely audible in my own head. “I c-could be... enticed.”

He places one kiss after another lower on my body. His grin is nothing but trouble, his hair falling into his eyes as he adjusts his position on the bed. I reach out to tuck a strand behind his ear. I want to see him. To see this. He catches his teeth in the waistband of my pants and pulls back. He releases, the material snapping pleasurably against my skin. _Merlin and Morgana._ He lowers his head, my stomach rippling in anticipation. I try desperately to stay quiet as he places his mouth over me through nothing but thin fabric. He nudges his nose against me before replacing his mouth. A sound I'm entirely embarrassed to be capable of making escapes from my throat. I instinctively press my palm to my mouth, trying to force the next sound back as Baz snakes his hand up my pants. It escapes anyway. A third breathy exhale happens against my best efforts when his fingers gently tap against me.

“Sorry.” I whisper.

He looks up at me from my lap. “For?”

“That….”

His eyes are fixed on me, his mouth hovering over my lower abdomen. It takes him a moment to realize what I am apologizing for.

He grins. “I like it.”

“It's embarrassing,” I say. Because it is. I don’t know why, but something about it embarrasses me. Baz is always so composed, so graceful. I feel like I’m being too gimmicky. I’ve never done this, never had a real reason to moan. But, I want to. He’s making me want to. I’m just worried he’ll think I sound…unpleasant.

Baz shakes his head at me like I’m stupid. “Crowley, Snow. No, it isn’t. It's a bloody turn on.”

“I feel stupid.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he lowers his head and drags his mouth against me. He pauses at my hip and sucks on the skin.

I bite on my lower lip hard.

“Snow, don't hold back,” he whispers. "Not with me."

He slips my pants off, making it look effortless. I am not even sure how he did it. It is just like him to be good at undressing me. He looks up at me, straddling my legs, and tilts his head slightly to the side. He doesn’t need to say anything. Baz is always a bloody gentleman. He holds my gaze and waits for my response. I wish he would look away, I feel self-conscious under the grey watch of his eyes. I don’t want to fuck up or embarrass myself.

He keeps looking until I nod my head and then he bows his and takes his lips, his bloody perfect lips, and gently touches the tip of my erection. I inhale sharply, clutching at the sheet beneath me. I twist under Baz and shut my eyes tightly when I feel his tongue drag the length of me. I try to remind myself to breathe.

“Simon,” he whispers against me.

I don’t respond. _Can't_ respond. Not when I'm solely focused on this whole breathing thing.

Baz lifts himself up, touches the side of my face. “Simon, love—still all right?” He whispers right by my ear. It doesn't help with the breathing. I don’t know how to tell him. Tell him that it is all too much, that I am paralyzed with fear that I will somehow mess this up. That I will somehow cause him to fall out of love with me, simply because I can't fuck properly.  It’s irrational and hopelessly stupid. (I know it is.) But, ever since the Chapel I’ve been irrational and hopelessly stupid. I’m afraid of losing him. I’ve never been so afraid of something in my entire life. It really is the good things that will drive you mad with missing. And I don’t want to miss Baz. _Ever._ I want him to always be here. But, I don’t exactly want to have that conversation right now.

I exhale and tell a different truth. “I'm nervous.” I say.

“I know, love.” His voice and calm and soft. So much softer than he ever used to make it.

“I just, what if you don’t like it, or I'm terrible, or—”

“ _Simon_ ,” he says. “Stop thinking. You can’t be terrible at this.” He grins and gestures down me. “I’ve been wanting to do this since basically forever, okay?”

“What about you?”

I don’t know why I’m thinking about this. Why I can’t stop worrying that I won’t be able to give him enough back, which will annoy him, or piss him off, and then he really will leave. (Merlin, shut up, Simon. Stop thinking.)

He laughs a little. “This is more than I ever thought I would get.”

“I'm still nervous.”

“Just tell me to stop and I will.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Simon, relax.”

“Okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Baz starts to kiss down my body again. He pauses before each kiss and whispers _I love you_ into my skin. Because he knows I need to hear it. Because he means it. He whispers one more _I love you_ before he wraps his lips around me and takes me completely in his mouth.

I close my eyes. I understand why people say they see the stars. My mind is spinning, blurry spots of gold and blue swirling before my eyes.

I moan—loudly, and I swear I can feel Baz smile.

**BAZ**

I have Simon Snow in my mouth. I’ll say it again, Aleister Crowley I am living a charmed life.

He is glorious, this entire moment is. I can’t stop looking at him. I feel each of his breathy, sharp exhales in the depths of my soul. (This is like nourishment for my disturbed mind.) I wrap my hand around his waist, feeling the warmth of this flushed skin. I release him, just for a moment, mostly so I can readjust and look at the way he chews on his lip when he's trying not to beg. (My disturbed mind quite likes this image too.) I run my tongue up the length of him, watching as his chest heaves, as his bites down on his lip again. I wait a second, long enough so it will seem like a surprise, and then I take him back in my mouth. This time, the sound he makes is undeniably a moan. (It sounds a bit like his growl— rough and frustrated — which I also quite like.) (I'm discovering _many_ things I like about Snow tonight.)

He wraps his hand in my hair and pulls. “Baz, I fucking love you.”

If I could talk I would. But I don’t want to let him go.

I flick his tip with my tongue and move my other hand to wrap around the base of him. He tries to push into the mattress, twisting his body to the side.

I just made Simon Snow wither.

I can’t hold back my grin.

He grabs my shoulder and tries to reach down me. I swat away his hand.  I want _him_ to lose _his_ control, not the other way around.

“Baz, _please_. Let me touch you. I want to...I want you.” His voice is breathless, hoarse.

He reaches again. The logical part of my brain shuts off. Who needs control? His palm is burning against me, and I shift automatically so he can get a better grip.

Snow touches me, desperately, like he _needs_ to. I have to pause what I'm doing for a moment to make sure I'm not missing something. But, all I see is a very determined Snow, with a look in his eye like he's never wanted something more. I don't know what's gotten into him, but I go with it. I let him take over. Let him set the pace for both himself and my own task.

He does this thing I can't quite work out with his hips _and_ wrist, and then suddenly it's all too much. The pleasure rolling through me reaches my fangs, and I can’t think of a worse possible moment for them to appear. I close my eyes, tracing a pattern on him with my tongue, trying to focus on something besides the pressure building in me so I can give him this moment.

**SIMON**

I always thought the sensation of this would be warm, but I feel coolness wrapped around me from Baz’s lips and tongue. The contradiction from the heat of my skin is making it hard to concentrate.I try to keep my pace even with his — when he moves his mouth I move my hand. I want to make him feel like _this_ , I want to feel like we match. My breathing starts to deepen. It feels ragged and raw as I let out every sound that comes to my throat. Baz echoes my moan. And the sound of him, with his mouth full of me, drives a buzzing force through my body. I lift my hips slightly. He doesn’t even hesitate; he takes more of me. I fucking love it.

 _This_ , I think. This is what it feels like to die from pleasure. _I get it_. I would let him kill me every time.

I feel like I am on the edge of a cliff, about to lean over at any moment and plummet into a bed of feathers. Two extremes, my body not sure how to react. I feel both exhilarated and bizarrely calm. It is the strangest sensation, and I never want it to end. However, embarrassingly I know I can’t hold back much longer.

"Baz..."

He looks up.

"I think, you know..." I give him a meaningful look. I swear he grins. But, he doesn’t stop.

He ignores me.

I start to panic _._

_Surely he doesn’t want me to?_

I don’t know a lot, but I’m not such an idiot to not have done _some_ research. And I know this a point of debate, and not something to _ever_ assume. “Baz. You need to stop.” I stutter over my words. I push my hips up further by accident, which only seems to encourage the ignoring.

"Baz—"  I lose my thought. I swear he sucks harder, his eyes angrily flicking up to mine. He manages to somehow look beautiful and powerful; he looks fucking ruthless as always. ( _Merlin and Morgana_.)  I swallow, forcing myself to remember the thought I was trying to voice. “I don’t want to, you know...I mean, you don't have to... I wouldn't be upset if you didn't...” I can barely breathe, let alone communicate this properly. 

He keeps his grey eyes locked onto me.

(He could get me to do anything with how he's looking at me right now.)

He stops.

(I regret my protests.)

He pulls away from me, his lips hovering. 

He doesn't say anything, and I can’t read his expression.

My muscles start aching in anticipation, betraying everything I said. I grab onto the headboard to keep my hips from tipping up again.

Baz grins, like he knows exactly what I'm doing.

He takes me in his mouth, fast and hard, his tongue dragging against me as I involuntarily shove upwards. It is too late. _Fuck_. It feels too good. I release into his mouth as a series of curses come flying from mine.

**BAZ**

Simon is a bloody fool for thinking I would ever pull away. I feel him release in my mouth, warm, thick, and salty-sweet liquid pooling. I swallow, hoping he doesn’t notice how fucking much I love this. (Because it’s weird. I know it is. But, I could taste Simon every single day and it wouldn’t be enough).

I release my mouth from him and watch his muscles contract. His entire body, even the tips of his ears, is flushed beautifully. I love the ruddy stains even more knowing I caused them. (If I had any artistic talent I would paint him like this.) (More poetic musings. Crowley, he's made me soft.)

“C’mere.” His voice is concentrated, deeper than usual. He nods his head forward while keeping his burning hand tightly wrapped around me. I grin and oblige, moving forward to find his lips.

When he kisses me, it is deprived and messy. His tongue pushes into me hungrily, and I feel myself grow harder at the thought of his taste still lingering in my mouth. He bites on my lip, catching the moan he draws from me in his throat. He tilts his hips up, still hot and throbbing, grinding against me. His hand doesn't stop moving, despite being trapped between us.

It's chaotic.

_It's Simon._

I don’t last long. I can’t stop picturing his bronze hair falling behind him, his head and neck arching against the bed. I can’t get his voice out of my head, saying my name over and over again. He made me feel wanted, needed, like I was enough. We are both breathing deeply when I release into his hand. He growls as I feel the warmth spread between us. He doesn’t seem to care about the mess and for once neither do I, because I don’t want to lose the sensation of his skin against mine. I pull him onto his side, our limbs intertwined. I feel desperate, like if we stop touching we may never get back to this.

I don’t say anything, and neither does he.  A thousand conversations flick between our eyes.

Swirling blue to grey.

Snow to Pitch.

One day, I’ll have to. I’ll have to make a choice I don’t want to make. And he knows, because he will need to make the same one. But not tonight. Tonight we can just hold onto this— onto kisses, onto whispers, onto burning love— a love deeper than what anyone else ever gets.

Tonight we can feel lucky.

I tilt his chin up with my hand and kiss him once. Long. Slow. Deep. I move my head back slightly and trace a pattern along his jaw with my fingers. He smiles, his eyes piercing. I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer.

“I love you.” He sounds exhausted.

“I love you, too,” I say.

I feel my eyes closing. I don’t want to sleep yet. I want to remember everything. How he felt, how he responded to my touch, how he tasted. He was everything tonight. But his breathing has already deepened and I know he has fallen asleep. I let myself slip away, holding onto memories just formed, hoping they will be enough to keep our nightmares out, at least for right now.

\----

I wake up to messy curls, bright and burning in the sun. We haven’t moved all night. Simon has one leg draped over my hip, still naked, still beautiful. I gently kiss the top of his head. He smells like Simon; like sweat, and earth, and cinnamon. I breathe in a little more of him, catching hints of my own scent mixed on his skin, exactly how I always want it to be. It smells like home.

I already know when the time comes what I will choose. It won’t be what he wants. He’ll want to be Turned. I know it. I feel it every time I catch him looking at me, or staring at our reflections. He won’t want to age if I don’t. But, that’s not something I can do. He is mine, forever, as he is. I don’t care if he ages and I don’t. It’s what I want. Him alive, with a soul, and tawny skin, and eyes that set my soulless body on fire. I want his skin to be warm, and his touch to be burning. I want him to stay unapologetically alive.

If he doesn’t want it, if he says no to my proposal, I won’t have a choice— I’ll have to walk away because we can’t go back.

We won’t be able to pretend afterward like him saying no, or demanding to be Turned, was anything but him not choosing me. Because we will be at odds, and if he won’t accept a life where he’s alive and I’m me, then there is no life for us at all. I hate that there has to be a choice. But, there is. It’s our reality.

If he says no I’ll bring myself back to the spot where he saved me, and I’ll go.

I won’t carry on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! :)


	15. The morning after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so back to the actual plot! 
> 
> Thank you to all those reading and commenting. Hope you are enjoying :)

**AGATHA**

I feel sore and stiff when I wake up, or more accurately when Penny wakes me up. She is banging pots and pans in the kitchen. I sit up on the couch and feel like my muscles are made from jelly, and my mouth feels like cotton. I would return to the World of Mages just for a gallon of water right now. A sure sign I am feeling desperate.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Penny’s voice comes out like nails on a chalkboard.

I wince and rub my temples. “I am _now_ ,” I groan.

How is she even functioning? I am positive she drank more than I did. However, she looks like her usual self, curly red hair pulled back in a wild ponytail, the same flannel pajama bottoms and robe she had at Watford, her thick glasses perched on her nose.

“Why are you awake?” I ask.

Penny shrugs while grabbing for items from the fridge. “I have things to do today.”

“I don’t even think I can drive home yet.” I say lamely.

“You’re welcome to go back to sleep.”

She slams a pan on the counter. Somehow I don’t think she really means her invitation. I also should have expected nothing less from Penny, she isn’t exactly the “I left Advil and water by your bed” type of friend (unless your Simon, she would do anything for him).

As if on cue the door to Simon’s room opens and Baz strolls out. His hair hasn’t been slicked back and his pajamas show off his slender frame. He looks hungry. Of course he probably is. I frown at him.

“You’re still here.”

He doesn’t miss a beat with his retort; he doesn’t even glance at me. “As are you. Penny, any particular reason you sound like Simon in the kitchen this morning?”

It still feels weird hearing him say Simon. He always used to call him Snow. Once, in fifth year when Simon was overly obsessed with Baz and on one of his tangents he threw in, “And, he refuses to call me anything but Snow.”

Penny and I both had looked at each other, like we didn’t want to encourage him, but I was curious so I asked why that mattered. It wasn’t like ‘Snow’ was a particularly offensive name for Baz to pick—he had certainly selected more offensive names in the past.

Simon had gone quiet and I almost thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders and gave a heartbreaking response in a typical Simon fashion—like it really wasn’t important. “Because, Simon feels like my name. Snow, I don’t know if that is a last name or middle name. I don’t know where it comes from, or if it belonged to someone. Snow reminds me that I have no idea who I am. But Simon, Simon is all mine.”

I doubt Baz even knows why he hates being called Snow.

Penny grumbles at Baz and reaches for the eggs on the counter. “I don’t sound like Simon. I'm hungry and making breakfast, why is that so hard for everyone to understand.”

Baz laughs and grabs the eggs from her hand and starts expertly cracking them into the pan. “Let me take over before you hurt yourself, or wake Simon.”

Penny softens before her loud laugh fills the air. “He was awake as soon as that egg hit the pan. He’s got a sixth sense about food.”

**SIMON**

I wake up to an empty bed. For a moment I feel sick, and my chest starts to ache. I feel a light layer of sweat on my skin and try not to panic. Immediately, I assume I’ve done something wrong, that I somehow managed to fuck up last night.

I have to remind myself not to be an idiot when I hear the sound of Penny and Baz laughing ( _obviously they are still in the flat_ ). No one has left me— they are just in the kitchen. I smell toast, golden and buttery so I focus on the scent until I start to feel calm again.

I won’t complain about waking up alone if Baz is making toast. He always makes it better than I do. I stand and stretch and go to reach for clothes. I frown a little, I wish my arm would hurry up and heal. I settle for Baz’s pajama bottoms and no shirt. I am too hot anyways.

**AGATHA**

Simon saunters out his room at the smell of toast. He is so predictable.

“Hiya,” he sings to everyone. I can’t help but smile at him, even though I can once again see the bruises and scars across his skin. Baz catches me looking and glares.

 He practically barks at Simon, “Snow, you could at least put a bloody shirt on in front of company—have some discretion.”

Simon turns towards me, a red flush appearing on his neck. “ _Shit_. Sorry Aggie, I didn’t know you were still here.”  He's the only person who can call me Aggie and not receive a smack across the head.

“No problem. Nothing I haven’t seen before.” I give Simon my biggest grin, knowing it will piss Baz off even more. He looks at me and scowls as he aggressively slams a piece of toast on a plate. I raise an eyebrow at him.

**BAZ**

She is doing it just to piss me off. I know she is. I try not to let it bother me. Not after last night.

Simon reaches around me and takes a plate with toast and eggs. I don’t move. I keep glaring at Agatha. I don’t want to look away first.

“Thank you,” Simon presses his lips gently to my cheek and I feel myself soften. He nudges against my neck and nips on my skin but I still don’t look away.

“I'm still thinking about last night,” he says quietly. He says it so quietly I wonder if he said it at all, or if it was what I wanted to hear. But, when I glance over to him I know he said it. His eyes are lowered and his cheeks are already turning pink.

I love him.

He’s the only one.

No one else can do this. Can pull me out of a thought, or a trance, or a heated moment filled with hate. No one else can make my doubts melt so easily. He is pulling me back, with his soft voice and our shared secret. I melt completely.

I grin at Simon and hand him his mug with tea.

I would never admit it, even under duress, even spelled I would find a way to deny everything. But, it would make me disgustingly, nauseatingly happy to make breakfast for him every day.

**PENNY**

Apparently I am destined to live a life in the shadow of Simon’s love triangles. Which is fine, as long as I never have to be part of the triangle, and as long as Baz and Agatha don’t actually kill each other. What a mess that would be. A mess I would have to clean up.

At this point they are both trying to be the bigger moron, I am entirely certain Simon could remove himself from the equation completely and they would still be at each other’s throats for some unknown reason. It is exhausting and time consuming. I was supposed to have left the flat by now. Instead, I am sitting through the world’s most awkward breakfast at our kitchen table playing the role of referee.

Agatha breaks the silence first. “So, is anyone going to tell me about the bites?”

I sigh loudly, “Not this again.”

Agatha sits up straighter, and holds her head a little higher. I know her tricks, and this is what she does to command a room. Baz does the same thing. It must be an old families thing. She keeps her voice light, even though the topic is anything but.

“Just tell me what happened.” She looks directly at Baz as she says this.

Simon rolls his eyes and takes a bite of toast. “They aren’t from Baz.” His mouth is full, and it comes out muffled. “

You’re disgusting.” Baz shakes his head, but I notice he doesn’t stop watching Simon. He is a bit infatuated with Simon’s terrible table manners.

Simon grins cheekily, “So?”

I sigh again. “Gross. Not at breakfast, _idiots_.”

I feel like sentences like this are a permanent part of my lexicon now. They both look away sheepishly.

Agatha speaks a little louder this time. “No one has answered my question yet.”

Simon groans. “Agatha, it wasn’t Baz. It was another vampire and he used magic to make it feel like I was bitten. That's all we know. And, I really don’t want to talk about this.”

She scrunches her perfectly small nose. “I know you don’t, but maybe you should.”

**SIMON**

“What does that mean?”

Agatha is starting to piss me off. She looks at me, with pity and irritation, like it should be completely obvious and my poor small brain can't figure it out.

“Well, you were attacked by a vampire and yet you just spent the night with one.”

“I don’t see your point,” I snap at her and reach for Baz’s hand under the table. He squeezes it lightly.

“Easy, Snow,” he whispers.

I let out a deep exhale.

“ _Simon_ , I can see the bruise on your hip. I know how bruises like that are made.” Agatha looks away from me, her face flushing in embarrassment.

Fuck.

I know exactly what bruise she means. I follow her lead and look away. I suddenly regret my decision to not wear a shirt.

**PENNY**

_What bruise?_ Now I am curious as I see a crimson flush spread on Simon’s chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simon mumbles.

Simon can't lie to save his life. I start to lean a little in my seat, trying to see if I can catch a glimpse of Simon’s hip.

Baz rolls his eyes at me before turning to Agatha. “Agatha, what Simon and I do alone is none of your business.”

That definitely gets my attention— _did they have sex?_

“How could you not tell me?” I shout at Simon before I can help myself. He looks like he is trying very hard not to exist.

“Tell you what?”

“That you had sex!”

I try not to sound as excited as I am, our friendship isn't necessarily the lets share all the details of our sex lives sort, but Merlin and Morgana, I am excited for him! This is big.

“Crowley, _Penelope_!” Simon slams his head against the table, and Baz starts to laugh.

“Penny!” Agatha hisses at me. “I wasn’t talking about sex.”

I shrug. “Well how the hell was I supposed to know? It sure sounded like everyone was talking about sex.”

I turn back to Simon and raise my eyebrows at him. “So—did you!”

He doesn’t answer me, just lets out a loud groan and turns his head to face Baz. I can tell he is having a silent conversation with him. Baz smirks. He’s enjoying himself.

“Baz?” I look to him instead (Simon is clearly not going to be much help).

“Ah—gentlemen don’t tell, Bunce.” He winks, and I almost squeal. Baz Pitch could charm the pants off a fucking snake.

Simon groans again. “You’re just encouraging her!” He growls at Baz.

“Naughty Simon!” I laugh. I only say it to embarrass him more.

“Shut up!”

I am having too much fun at this point.

“So, how was it?”

Simon slams his head against the table again. " _Penelope Bunce_! Merlin, this isn't your business.”

I can hear the embarrassment in his voice—which makes me think perhaps they did. At the very least they did _something_. I feel a pang of regret, I shouldn't tease him so much. Actually, no. I don’t feel regret. Simon was just as awful and demanding after my summer in America.

“Penny! Focus!” Agatha snaps her fingers in front of my face. “I was talking about the bite mark on Simon’s hip. The _new_ one.” She is hissing at me, scolding me like a little kid.

I shake my head at her and get up to push Simon’s chair away from the table.

“ _Oi_!” Simon shouts. “Do I not get any privacy anymore?”

“No.”

I look down to Simon’s hip and he instinctively places his hand in the way.

“Did something happen?” I raise a careful eyebrow.

I don’t dare look at Baz. I don’t want him to think I am blaming him for something.

Simon sighs. “Nothing. Look, it isn’t a bite, not _technically_.”

 He moves his hand and I see the incriminating mark—a purple and red stain on his hipbone, but he is right, it isn’t a bite.

I finally look at Baz. He looks proud. “Your handiwork I assume?”

He smirks. “I should fucking hope.”

Simon groans. “Enough. All of you.”

“It's quite pretty, very symmetrical,” I say absently, tilting my head.

Simon pulls his chair back to the table. “Stop it, Pen. You’re being creepy. I’m not a fucking lab rat for you to study.”

I catch Baz’s eye, and he nods at me. He knows I trust him. I just needed to see. What they do in the bedroom is their business (minus the part where Simon admits _when_ they have sex), and as long as Simon is safe I don’t care what they do. Besides, this is the mark of someone in control.

“Agatha, it’s a love bite. It isn’t a big deal.”

She looks at me like I am mental, joking about how pretty Baz makes his marks on Simon. It is a bit twisted, but who am I to judge. It doesn’t surprise me Simon is into biting (the vampire boyfriend should have been the obvious clue). I shake my head— _time to stop thinking about that._

Simon’s face is still red. “Can we all stop looking at me now?” He says quietly.

**AGATHA**

How does it not bother Penny? If Baz is sucking on Simon’s skin like sweets he could easily graze him with the point of his fang. It wouldn't even need to be on purpose, all it takes is for the moment to get too messy and Simon has been turned or poisoned or whatever happens.

“Okay, whatever. So Simon and Baz act like fourteen year old boys in the bedroom, but how about the fact that Simon has been attacked by a vampire and none of you seem to care. Also, what happens if Baz accidentally turns him?”

“Crowley, Wellbelove. I’m not that fucking careless.” Baz snaps at me. He rarely gets this worked up.

“I said _accidentally_.”

“Yeah, and what do you think an accident is? It’s being careless. I’m not going to turn him.”

“But, what if you did? Simon—what would you do? I think you haven’t thought about all of the possibilities. What do you talk about? You should already have plans in place in case of emergencies…”

**SIMON**

I let Baz and Penny and Agatha all yell at each other. I think Agatha asked me a question, but there wasn’t enough of a silence for me to answer. Not that I want to.

I don’t interject. None of them are shutting up anyway. I am feeling exhausted and I hate when they fight. I especially hate that they are fighting over me, like I am not even here.

“I can fucking protect him, Agatha!” (Baz)

“Clearly you can’t. Look at _him_!” (Agatha)

“Great fucking snakes, you are both ridiculous. Simon doesn’t need this!” (Penny).

I let my head drop to the table and my eyes start to drift. Why am I so tired?

The table feels cool against my skin. I didn’t realize how hot I was feeling, but now I am aware of my skin and it feels like a fire is starting at the surface of everything. I must be getting sick. I let my eyes close. I see red, and my lungs feel heavy. I feel like I am swallowing glass every time I breathe.

Something isn’t quite right.

I try to open my eyes, but they are stinging, like the room is filled with smoke. I need to keep them shut. I keep feeling waves of heat lick against me. I really must be getting ill.

A word is lingering on my lips. I am searching for it, why I can’t I remember it? I feel like I am shattering, like I am starting to slip.

I hear Penny’s voice first. “Simon?”

I am looking for a word. I frown at her voice; I don’t know where she is. I want to shush her. I need to remember the word.

“ _Baz!_ ”

This time her voice comes out more urgent.

“Snow?”

I frown at Baz's voice.

_What is the word?_

**PENNY**

Simon disappears. He is gone. It has been months since he has done this. His eyes are closed and he is leaning against the table. I touch my hand to him and he flinches.

“Baz, he's burning.”

Baz kneels beside him and places his hand on his forehead. He pulls it back immediately. I look down and see his fingers are red.

He holds his hand up to his face and catches my eye. “This isn’t good.”

I nod as Simon groans, loud and wounded. We all freeze at the sound, none of us sure what to do. How long has he been like this? We were only fighting for a few minutes. I hear his voice, quiet and soft, spilling words into the table. His face is twisting,

**_“Stand your ground. Head over heels. Make a wish. Make way for the King! A night to remember. Clean as a whistle.”_ **

“What's he doing?” Agatha asks. She steps closer to Simon, and reaches out her hand to him. Baz pushes it away.

“ _Don’t_. We don’t know what’s wrong.”

“He hasn’t done this in months," I answer.

“He's done this before?”

The question irritates me. “He used to do it constantly. He lost his magic Agatha, it hasn’t been a bed of roses for us.”

She sighs, “I wasn’t saying that.”

“This is different,” Baz says quietly. “This isn’t like before.”

Baz stands up and slips his wand from his sleeve. **“It’s show time!”** He casts angrily. His magic flows through the room, but it comes back empty.

“There’s nothing—“

“Shut up and help,” he hisses.

He takes a step out of the kitchen to the living room and then back to the kitchen. He turns on the spot like he is trying to see something, like he is solving a puzzle.

“Baz? What are you—there’s nothing here.” I look back to Simon, his eyes are open now, and he is following Baz with his gaze.

“No. There is. I’m sure of it. Simon—he’s trying to say something, I'm trying to figure it out.”

Agatha frowns. “But he is saying something already.”

Baz looks back at both of us and narrows his eyes. I can tell he wants to call us both idiots. “ _No_. He is trying to say something else. Something is here.”

It doesn’t make any sense, but Simon rarely does and I think Baz might know Simon’s inner workings better than anyone.

**AGATHA**

Baz and Penny are searching the living room even though it is obvious nothing is there. Simon is still muttering.

I stand looking at him. Baz told me not to touch him, in case he’s hexed. But, part of me thinks he just didn’t want me to touch Simon. I’m tempted to reach out and do it anyway.

I wonder if Simon knows I am here. He starts to rock a little, and it breaks my heart. I want to fix him, to help. I didn’t know it was this bad.

“Simon,” I whisper.

He darts his eyes nervously to me and shakes his head, like I’ve somehow ruined something for him, but I don’t know what.

He keeps quickly whispering a random stream of spells. They don’t go together, they would never be used in sequence in our world.

“Simon,” I try again.

This time he glares.

**SIMON**

_What is the word? Something is wrong. I need to tell them. All of them. Why now. Why did this happen now. Baz and Penny are looking, they won’t find it. I don’t know what it is. It feels like my dreams. Agatha is interrupting. I need to focus. What is the word—?_

_Make a wish. Make a wish. Make a wish._

**AGATHA**

“Penny?”

“What,” she snaps at me.

“He keeps saying the same spell now.”

Simon looks wild. He is stuck on **make a wish.**  He won’t stop saying it, each time more urgently than the last.

**BAZ**

I walk over to Simon and turn his chair away from the table so I can tilt up his chin and look into his eyes.

“You said not to—”

“Shut up,” I say calmly to Wellbelove. She does.

I don't release my grip on Simon, even though his skin is burning against my fingertips. It feels like he is wearing his cross.

“ _Baz_. Stop, he's hurting you,” Penny says.

“He’s not, I'm fine.” I try to sound reassuring as I ignore the pain. I need to bring him back.

“Hi, love,” I whisper.

He keeps moving his lips. **“Make a wish.”** The words barely make a sound as they come pouring out of his mouth. He’s breathing heavily, the spell feels faintly laced with magic, which is impossible. It unsettles me. Something is very wrong.

Simon’s eyes flicker across my face, he knows I am here. I am always here.

I take his hand in mine and run my thumb over his knuckles. He feels like fire (and not in the good way, not at all like how he felt last night). I pull his hand closer to me and place it on my chest, right over my heart. I try not to pull back from the burning pain that radiates through my body at the contact. He shouldn’t feel like this.

Simon stops muttering and looks back to me.

“You feel that?”

He keeps looking at me.

“I'm here. Come back. You aren’t alone. It’s okay.”

His eyes soften and his face twists with pain. “Come on, love. What is it?”

“Smoke,” he whispers, his voice is hoarse, like he has been screaming this entire time.

“What? What did he say?” Penny crouches beside me.

I pull back from Simon and frown. “Smoke," I tell her.

“What else?” Wellbelove asks.

 I shake my head. “Nothing. He just said smoke.”

Simon’s hand is still on my chest. He is drumming his fingers urgently against my skin, like he is trying to make me understand.

“What is going on," Wellbelove whines. It pisses me off. I can’t stand asinine questioning. I bet she doesn’t even have her fucking wand on her for when things go horribly wrong, which I’m positive they are about to.

“Crowley, Agatha, I don’t fucking know.”

Simon looks up at me, this time his eyes are clear. “Smoke,” he says louder. “Don’t you smell it?”

I look to Bunce and she shakes her head. None of us smell anything, but I don’t doubt Simon for a second. He stands abruptly and pulls on my hand.

“Baz. Please. We need to go. You need to. _Please_.” He grips my hand so tightly it actually hurts.

“Simon, love. Calm down. What is it?”

He sobs. “You’re not. Baz. Oh Fuck. Merlin. Fuck. _Baz_.”

He pulls on my hand harder, towards the front door. I don’t hesitate. I follow him.

He turns to Penny and Agatha. “No. No. Fuck. It’s here. We need to go. Now. Leave. _Go_. All of you. _Go_. Penny. Now.” The way he says it, not even Agatha pauses for more stupid questions.

We don’t make it to the door before the room bursts into flames.

**SIMON**

Everything is hot. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I never do. It is like when I used to go off, except instead of an explosion there is nothing. I just slip.

I can feel Baz’s heartbeat. It is slow, so much slower than mine but it is there— reassuring and lovely. Everything about him is lovely.

He is bringing me back, like he always does. I focus on his heart and the coolness of his skin. He is made of music and I let his melody fill me, I let it twist in my thoughts and push out the fuzziness surrounding my brain until I can breathe again.

When I snap out of it I see Baz looking at me, worry written all over his face. I want to be so much more for him. But I don’t have time to tell him because I remember the word.

Smoke.

We need to leave. We don’t have time. I saw it happen. I know it will. I am pulling us towards the door, but we are too late. I know we are. I need to save them. It is the last thing I focus on before everything turns to flames. I think of Penny and Agatha and Baz.

" **Make a wish.”**

I think of all three of them safe.

 

 


	16. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all those reading and commenting!
> 
> Happy 2016!! :)

**BAZ**

“Snow, don’t be an idiot.” He is holding a knife to his palm. My voice is shaky, and I keep taking steps away from him. He keeps stepping closer. He slices into his skin and winces.

I resist the urge to reach out to him, and kiss his temple, to sooth his pain. I can’t get closer. I keep moving backwards, through the snow in the open clearing. The clearing looks vaguely familiar, but I don’t have the energy to process anything further. I need to stay focused. I need to stay in control.

The smell of his blood is already clouding my brain.

I grab for my wand and shout at him, " **Stand your ground.”**

He keeps moving, even though I felt the magic radiate out of me. It should have worked. My spells _always_ work.

Snow looks momentarily surprised before he focuses on torturing me again. It is torture. He must know that.

My mouth fills with spit. I am salivating and I hate myself.

He must know that too.

Something doesn't feel right. The edges of my vision are foggy, and I can’t place where we are. This can't be real, and yet I am terrified it is.

“Simon, _please_. Stop. Why are you doing this?” It is a whimper.

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t seem real either. It reminds me of when he used to go off, and he would be shimmering, and you would wonder if he was even corporal anymore.

I take my wand again and try a healing spell, trying to seal the cut on his hand. It doesn’t work either. For the first time in my life I drop my wand uselessly to the ground.

Simon steps closer, I’ve already stopped moving, my back pressed into a tree I don’t remember seeing.

“ _Simon,"_ I sob.

He _should_ be listening to me. He leans his head against mine, his hand pooling with blood coming unnervingly close to me. My body shakes and I keep my inhales shallow. He doesn't move, just rests against me. For a moment I am worried he's dead.

"Simon?”

 He looks up and smiles. "I'm so tired, Baz.”

I stare, confused. He gently presses a kiss to my collarbone.

“I love you," he says softly. “Let me give this to you, please. I trust you. This can work.” He sounds confident. He's always so fucking brave.

I shake my head, trying to remember where we are, and how we got here. I don't need this. Not from him. He knows that. I’ve told him.

He drops his hand so the blood slides down his finger in slow, agonizing lines. There isn't as much as I first thought, but still enough for me to feel dizzy, to feel the pull in my stomach.

Once his finger has turned a brilliant shade of red he reaches his hand up to my face. I try to rip my head back.

“Baz.”

I look back to him, his eyes clear. _How can he be so sure?_

“It's okay. I'm letting you," he whispers.

“What if I can’t stop?”

I can barely speak. My voice is rasping. I feel like a trapped animal with nowhere to go. I am fighting with everything I have. But he is so fucking lovely. He won’t stop looking at me, with his watery blue eyes, filled with trust. He shouldn't trust me.

He tilts his head, like he can read my thoughts. “You can stop. I told you, I trust you.”

He slowly moves his hand to my face. I lean forward, just a bit. I don’t let my fangs go like I normally would. This feels nothing like it normally does. He touches his finger to my lips. I don’t dare move. I fight everything inside of me and close my eyes. He gently runs his fingertip across my lips. I can feel his blood, warm and thick against my mouth. I let it sit there, a blemish on me. When I open my eyes he has pulled his hand back slightly and he is still looking at me. He doesn’t look nervous.

“Go on, then.”

His voice sounds like wind, it is everywhere all at once. Something still doesn't feel right, but I nod and close my eyes again. I run my tongue along my lip, I feel his blood in my mouth, and my entire body relaxes, like a weight has been lifted from me.

I don’t feel like a monster. It feels so right. I bite on my lower lip and feel Simon shift. I keep my eyes closed as he presses his finger back to my mouth.

“You can have more.”

I nod my head and hope I don’t look terrifying.

He slips his finger into my mouth before I can ask. I wrap my lips around him and gently suck. I run my tongue up his finger and feel myself lean against him. He kisses my hair.

“ _See_.”

I don’t know what he means, but nothing in life has ever felt like this. Simon hums softly and my eyes bolt open. I go to pull away, worried I have hurt him. I look up to see his eyes half closed and his lips parted, and he looks the exact opposite of someone in pain. He looks like he did last night. He presses his face to my hair, nuzzling in a way that makes my whole body feel alive.

I let him pull away first. When I look at him he has an unreadable expression on his face. For once I have no idea what he is thinking.

“Baz.” He sounds drunk.

I can’t speak.

“Baz, here. Have it. Have more, please.”

He offers up his palm, still pooling with blood, and I step gingerly forward. I keep looking at him and he nods his head. I should stop now; stop while I still have control. But I have never been able to resist Simon and he keeps offering me his hand.

I grasp his wrist and gently push the sleeve of his coat up. He is watching me. I am careful as I wrap my mouth delicately on either side of his hand. His blood instantly fills my mouth and I close my eyes again. I drink him; I drink everything he is offering. I don’t let my teeth (any of them) touch him. I just drink. I inhale. I consume Simon Snow and he lets me.

When I have finished what is in his hand I release my grip and step back. He keeps looking at me, the same unreadable expression on his face, and a slight tilt to his head. It is too much. He is too much.

I jump at him and not even for a moment does he look afraid. I tackle him to the ground and press my mouth, hot and burning, against his. I kiss him deeper than I ever have. I push him into the snow beneath us until it starts to melt. I pull back breathless.

He is grinning. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

I smile back at him. I would never hurt him. Suddenly, his face goes dark, a shadow crosses over, and his eyes look dead. I scramble back, terrified I've taken too much, that neither of us noticed. But, he's still breathing.

"Simon?” I whisper. He looks at me, with dark eyes, not filled with their usual light. His skin goes pale. He looks sick. I start to cry. He shakes his head.

"No, Baz. It's not you. I need you."

I am confused, and aware that this must be a dream. He's not making sense.

He gives me a sad look, and I notice he starts to fade.

He tilts his head again and smiles.

He's gone.

\---

I open my eyes and instantly close them again. I feel like I am made of smoke. The air is thick and hot, curling around me, encouraging me to go back to my dream. To the forest and snow and Simon.

 _Simon_.

I open my eyes again. I cough and manage to climb to my feet. I don’t know where I am. I go to take a shaky step and my foot connects with something soft. It groans. Female.

I try to talk, but I only rasp.

It (she) groans again. “ _I _diot__ ," she hisses at me. _Penny_.

I kneel beside her. Her glasses are askew on her face, and her hair is even more of a tangled mess than usual. I try to fix her glasses but she pushes my hand away.

“I can do it,” she huffs.

Her face is smudged in black ash, and she as a deep cut under her left eye. I touch it gently and she winces.

I catch her eye and lift my wand. She nods.

 **“Get well soon,** ” I whisper. The cut instantly turns into a scar. I frown. I must be rusty on my fineness for healing spells. She can fix it later. Anyway, it makes her look even fiercer (which I didn't think was possible).

Otherwise Penny appears to be okay. I breathe a sigh of relief and bring her to my chest to hug her.

“ _What_ are you—“

“Shut up for once.”

She does.

It has been a year of surprises for me. I've never been one for hugs. And I never thought I would be hugging Penelope Bunce. But here I am just overwhelmingly glad to see her sharp eyes and ridiculous hair and nothing but a hug seems appropriate.

 Penny reaches out a hand and touches my arm. I wince and look down. I am burned, but nothing terrible. The thought hits me for the first time. _I am still here. I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have survived. I should be ash._

I don't let myself think for long, we need to keep moving, the smoke is too thick and I don’t know how long we were out for. I help Penny to her feet and together we walk forward. It is the only direction that makes any sense since I still have no idea where the fuck we are (besides clearly not in the flat).

We keep walking until finally the smoke thins, which is where we find Agatha, sitting on her knees, and a dazed look on her face. Penny rushes over to her. She seems okay too, a few scratches and some burn marks, with a bit of singed hair, but nothing a flick of magic can’t fix.

I don’t see Simon. I ignore the racing in my pulse. _Where is he?_

Penny looks at me. She takes my hand and I let her. We all start looking without saying a word. We all know who is missing.

I wonder if they had the same dream too. No, a premonition. He’s not here. I already know it. He said he needed me.

Penny and I cast finding spells. They come back empty.

I don’t think about what that could mean. He could be dead, or just not here. Either case would cause the spells to fail.

 _Simon_.

**SIMON**

I am cold now, and tired. I feel an exhaustion set into me that I didn’t know could exist. I feel myself drifting to sleep; I try to fight it, but only for a moment. I have no idea what happened. I tried to save them. I hope I did. But right now the only thing I can focus on is how good it feels to sleep.

**PENNY**

Simon’s gone.

The smoke has cleared, leaving the three of us stranded, looking around hopelessly in a field. I don’t recognize where we are.

In another circumstance I might stop to appreciate how beautiful our surroundings are, even in winter with a light dusting of snow there are rolling hills and remnants of green grass and now dead wildflowers. It would be peaceful, it would be a wonderful place to live. But the only thing I can focus on is that Simon isn't here (wherever here is, we could be in Canada for all I know).

“Baz.” My voice is hoarse. I keep coughing up smoke.

He turns to me, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so unsure. His eyes are wide and filled with tears. I am holding onto Agatha who is quiet against my side with the same wide-eyed expression. They both need me to take control.

“He isn’t here. We need to get help.”

His face breaks as he nods his head, falling to his knees. He pulls out his phone and dials a number.

“Aunt Fi? Something happened. I…we…need your help.”

**BAZ**

Fiona won’t let us keep looking for Simon. She tracked my phone to a random field in the middle of Gladstone. I still have no idea what happened. We are all sitting quietly in the car, this time Fiona let me get in the front (only after dragging me away from the field).

“Baz, he isn’t here. Get in the bloody car.”

“He can’t have just disappeared!”

“Baz, your aunt is right. He isn’t here, we would know. We would have found him by now.”

“Maybe he is back at the flat?”

I glared at Agatha when she said that. Of course he isn’t back at the bloody flat.

“So, what happened?” Fiona finally breaks the silence in the car.

“We don’t know.” Penny answers for me.

I haven’t said a word yet. I keep looking at my phone. It’s a long shot, but I have to try. I type another set of messages.

**Simon?**

**Where are you?**

**We are okay, are you? Please.**

**I love you.**

Fiona eyes me. I ignore her. “I’m going to ask again. What happened?”

Penny leans forward in her seat. “Simon sort of went mental. One minute he was muttering **make a wish** and talking about smoke, trying to get us out of the flat and then everything just burst into flames.”

I can feel Fiona looking at me again.

“Flames?”

“Yeah, hence the mild burns. Baz got the worst of it, but otherwise we are okay.”

“ _Basil_ , you should be dead.”

This time I look over at Fiona. She doesn’t look concerned. She looks almost impressed. I laugh despite the situation. Only Fiona would tell someone they should be dead. I finally let myself speak.

“Snow saved us,” I say.

Penny leans further forward.

“Did you smell it too?”

“Yes.”

“Smell what?” Fiona asks.

“His magic. Under all of the smoke I could smell it, something green and earthy— it was Simon. I should be dead. He made sure I didn’t die.”

Because of course he would. He is fucking Simon Snow and even without his magic he would find a way. He would find a way to call on some deep reserve hidden within him one last time to make sure everyone else was okay. I don’t even know if that is possible, but if it is possible it doesn’t surprise me at all that Simon could do it. Which is why I have a terrible feeling he isn’t okay. I try to push the thoughts away.

Fiona pulls over and turns off the car. I look over to her—she is debating whether she should say something.

I sigh. “What?”

“Baz, maybe he you know, went off.”

Penny glares at my aunt. I don’t think she likes her much. “He doesn’t go off anymore. He doesn’t have magic.”

Fiona arches an eyebrow. “Maybe he found a way.”

Penny snorts. “You think Simon, the person who loves magic more than anyone, found a way to get his magic back, didn’t tell anyone, and then as his first act with his new magic made our flat combust? That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Penny has some serious courage. No one challenges Fiona, let alone calls her stupid.

Fiona shrugs. “He could have.”

Penny crosses her arms. “And how do you explain all of us ending up in a field except him?”

“I didn’t say he didn’t still save you. I’m just saying, that perhaps he did both.”

I don’t want to agree with her— it makes no sense that Simon would just go off at breakfast after all these months. But then again, he did warn us. He told us to get out. He smelled smoke before anyone.

“It doesn’t matter. We still need to find him,” I say.

“We will,” Penny offers.

Fiona turns the car back on. “We need to check out your place first, Basil. These things need to be treated properly. You can’t go off on a whim because your boyfriend is missing. You need to —“

“I get it,” I snap.

I sink into the leather seat. I don’t want to let myself hope, but maybe, just maybe Simon will already be at the flat. Assuming the flat is still there.

Or maybe he is dead in another field somewhere, and we will never find him. He told me needed me, yet here I am leaving. I am already failing him. I let myself be pulled into the darkness of my thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case it isn't overly clear (I wasn't sure if it was) the first part from Baz's POV is a dream!


	17. Dark magic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading! :)

**PENNY**

We all inhale deeply when Fiona pulls up the flat. The building is fine, or from the outside anyway. It looks exactly the same, not a single brown stone smudged with smoke. There are no fire trucks or any tenants out on the grass. It looks fine.

Agatha is opening the door before the car even stops. “Agatha," I call to her.

She looks at me, her eyes are rimmed red. I’ve never seen her look so unkempt. She looks wild.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She laughs; it’s a bark, brittle and dark.

 “This,” she whispers fiercely, "this is why I left. I'm going home.”

I don’t know if she means to her parents, or if she is getting on a plane to California. I don’t bother to ask.

“Text me when you get there," I say. “

Text me if you find Simon," she responds while opening the door to her own car.

“You aren’t going to help?” Baz doesn’t even sound angry when he asks, he sounds dejected, like Agatha refusing to help is another sign that Simon isn’t coming back.

“What’s the point,” she sighs dramatically. “He doesn’t need me. He needs you and Penny. When you find him get him the fuck out of London.”

We both just nod our heads and watch her pull out of the parking lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if I never see her again.

We all walk cautiously up the stairs. Baz and I pause outside the door of the flat. It shouldn’t be locked. We look at each other, but neither of us makes the effort to go forward.

Fiona pushes past us, “I’ll do it, then.”

The entire scene is unsettling— everything is fine —not a single thing is out of place, including our half eaten breakfast. It is all the same, which makes everything worse. I feel a pit deep in my stomach stir.

I slip my hand into Baz’s as he pulls out his wand. His palm is clammy, I look up at him in surprise. He shrugs at me, and I expect him to rip his hand away from mine. I should know better than to show curiosity. But he doesn’t let go as we walk into the flat together.

Fiona arches her perfect eyebrow (it must be a Pitch thing, they all have bloody merciless eyebrows) as she looks around. “Are you sure this place burst into flames?” She asks.

I turn on her, releasing Baz’s hand. “Piss off, Fiona,” I hiss.

She widens her green eyes at me. “Sorry, Bunce. I have to ask.”

“ _No_ , you don’t. You don’t get to fucking ask when Simon is missing.” I jab my finger in her chest and spit the words right in her face, even though she is much taller than me (and truthfully a terrifying person). But I am furious. Of course we didn’t fucking imagine everything. The flames were real.

“ _Aunt_ _Fiona_.” Baz says simply. He makes it sound like a warning.

“I know. Sorry boyo, I should know better when it comes to Snow.”

“ _Simon_ ,” I correct. Not that it makes a difference.

“Right. Simon. Well, something beyond my pay grade as a vampire hunter has clearly happened here, so Penelope I suggest you call your mum, and maybe that brother of yours.”

She lets her steel eyes soften to look at Baz. “Do you need me to stay?” She asks.

“No, I’ll be all right. Thanks Aunt Fi.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She hesitates for a moment before leaving us alone.

 

**2 Hours Missing**

**BAZ**

Penny’s mum shows up with Premal almost as soon as she calls them. I still don’t like Premal. All I see is the Mage when I look at him (he still wears a tunic), which makes me think of Simon, broken and limp in my arms. I stand in the corner and try not to glare.

Professor Bunce interrupts my loathing. “Basil,” she says evenly, “can you try a finding spell please? I know Pitches are great at finding spells when trying to locate magic.”

I sigh heavily but follow her instructions. I don’t mind Professor Bunce, and she's right, you can use a finding spell to coax out someone’s magic in a room. The Coven finds it useful when trying to identify what happened in a battle. If you can get the magic left in the area to present itself, you can usually figure out whom it belongs to.

“What specifically am I trying to find?”

I need to picture something before I can cast the spell.

She lowers her voice, “Dark Magic.”

Penny looks at me confused, but I understand. I try not to sneer as I add, “So, what you really meant is that Pitches are great at finding Dark Magic.”

“Yes. My apologies Basil,” she doesn’t drop her even tone. “I shouldn’t have been so ambiguous. It does us no good, does it?  I’m sure you know the magic will only appear if it thinks you will use it.”

“ _Mum,_ ” Penny hisses, “Baz doesn’t use Dark Magic.”

“No,” I interject. “But, my family does, and it isn’t like the magic can tell the difference. A Pitch is a Pitch, right?”

Professor Bunce nods approvingly.

I clearly sing the incantation required: **“Billy, Billy, come and play, while the sun shines bright as day.”**

It isn’t a common nursery rhyme, but it works well for finding Dark Magic, as long as you don’t think of Billy as a person.

I let my magic flow out of me. I see a stream of blue glitter across the room, weaving through books on the shelf and around furniture. The flow pauses at the kitchen window and an ugly scent fills the room.

“ _What_ the hell is that?” Premal covers his mouth.

“Dark Magic,” Professor Bunce whispers.

The smell isn’t familiar, but I guess I am not overly familiar with Dark Magic to begin with (other than our own, which I know smells like alcohol, not this). I watch the blue curls of my own magic snake around something red. It makes it look like flames.

I automatically take a step back and Penny searches for my hand again. We all watch in silence as the two streams collide and disappear. The putrid smell of sulfur mixed with something worse lingers in the air. It smells like death.

We all watch in silence as the magic settles.

“Did that help?” I ask.

 Professor Bunce nods. “Very much, Basil. Thank you. Penny, we need to take this back to the Coven now. I think perhaps you should come home. Basil, you should go home as well. I am sure your father is worried.”

“But... _Simon,_ ” Penny starts.

Her mother holds up a hand to her. “If Simon comes back he’ll know where to find you…should he decide to.”

 I narrow my eyes at her. Penny doesn’t seem to catch the ‘should he decide to’ part of her sentence.

“Do you think he is alive?” Penny’s voice is so filled with hope that I can’t bear the thought of Professor Bunce saying anything other than ‘yes’.

She hesitates and looks to her daughter’s face. Penny squeezes my hand.

“Possibly.”

Penny seems satisfied with the answer. I wish I could say the same. There is obviously something else going on no one is telling us.

 

**16 Hours Missing**

**PENNY**

Mum made me go home with her and Prem.

I think today is Christmas Eve, but it doesn’t feel like it. I haven’t left bed, I can't bring myself to face my family, to pretend everything is okay when it clearly isn't. Simon would be out looking for me if I were missing— the thought only makes me feel guiltier.

I roll to face my wall and sink deeper into my cocoon of blankets.

At least Baz is looking for him.

**BAZ**

_I feel guilty._

Daphne and my father insisted on a proper Christmas Eve dinner and I haven’t been able to look for Simon. Penny’s mum assured us the Coven was on it, but they don’t know Simon. Sometimes it feels like no one knows Simon. I should be out looking for him. I feel the tears start in my eyes and I excuse myself for the tenth time from dinner. I sit down on the bathroom floor and push the heels of my palms into my face.

It doesn’t help that today is _the_ day. _Our_ day. A day of first kisses and promises to stop fighting.

I should be with him. It’s as simple as that.

I should be exploring his moles and freckles with my mouth. I should be whispering how much I love him in his ear. _He should be here._

I go back to dinner and Daphne gives me a worried look. I am almost thankful for the dinner, because if I am being honest I have no idea where to start looking for him, and Simon deserves so much more than that.

**24 Hours Missing**

**SIMON**

I try to open my eyes but they still feel so heavy. I reach out a hand, hoping to feel the familiar sharp knots of Baz’s spine. My hand reaches into soft earth instead. I whimper and release the dirt.

I drift back to sleep.

**48 Hours Missing**

**BAZ**

I am a nightmare. I snap at every person who tries to talk to me, including Bunce. I am not even careful about my fangs.

“Put those away,” Penny hisses at me.

We are back in the flat and I am watching the Coven go through Simon’s room, which is pissing me off. I am already in a terrible mood from Christmas, which was a disaster. I spent hours in the forest behind the new house hoping Simon would appear, like it was even a possibility. It was stupid, and a waste of time, and I can’t decide who I am most furious at right now. Myself, for being so useless. The Coven, for being the fucking rats they are, or Snow, for fucking disappearing on me.

I can’t sleep without him.

I can’t bring myself to eat.

It’s been days of abstaining from either— every sound now hits me like grating nails. My throat is burning from thirst. If I didn't hate every single person in this room I might be more concerned about my current anger levels.

Penny yanks on my arm from our spot in the corner. “Baz, you moron. They can’t see _those_.”

She’s right of course. They would take me away in a second if they figured out what I am. If they would just stop touching Simon’s stuff I wouldn't feel the need to let them slip. But, I listen to Penny and growl as I retract my fangs.

“What are you looking for,” I grit out. My voice sounds different without Simon around. I have no reason to make it soft.

Angus Lottie answers my question. He is the leader of this expedition and has been on the Coven for years. My father loves him. He refers to him as a 'respectable man'.

“We have reason to believe Mr. Snow was experimenting with Dark Magic.” He sounds like an American trying to do a British accent. I snarl at him. I don't think I have ever loathed someone's existence as much as I do his in this moment. My hand is on my wand before he even finishes giving his answer.

I _will_ make him take it back.

Penny steps in front of me. “ _Excuse me_ ,” she says. Everyone pauses to look at her. She’s speaking with the authority of someone in power.

Her brother sighs. “Penny, they are doing their job. Simon lost his magic, and he wasn’t stable. He hasn’t _been_ stable. There is a chance he was trying to use Dark Magic to get his power back.”

I snarl again. “Simon would _never_ touch Dark Magic. Least of all for something as idiotic as getting his own magic back. You don’t even know him.”

Someone else on the Coven snorts. “And you do? Mr. Snow was capable of many dark deeds.”

I hate that they are calling him Mr. Snow, like some terrible Batman villain. Simon, I want to correct them. _His name is Simon!_

Another Coven member picks up Simon’s phone. I didn’t realize he had left it on the bedside table until we got back. I should have known they would do this. I should have hidden his things. Not that he has anything to hide—but they are his. Not theirs. They shouldn’t ruin his few possessions with their lies and accusations.

I imagine them scrolling through his phone, laughing over the million pictures he tries to force me into, where I refuse to do anything but frown. Except the one, where he kissed me and I didn’t have a choice but to smile. Or reading the messages I left desperately on his phone telling him I love him.

Or any of the other messages I’ve ever sent him.

I feel a chill in my spine.

There was a day last month…

 **S:** A bird just shat on me. I’m banning birds from your diet. They are plotting something.  
**B:** I’m not sure I understand the point of the ban.  
**S:** I don’t want to kiss you after you drain a pigeon. They are evil. I feel like they want this. This is their plan.  
B: They want me to drink their blood and then kiss you?  
**S:** Yeah, you’re right. Drain them all.  
**B:** I’ll consider it, if you ask me nicely.  
**S:** Later ;)  

“Drop that,” I hiss, “before I set your hand on fire.”

They drop the phone on Simon’s bed.

I can play the monster.

I don’t mind. Not with these people.

I watch as eyes flicker between each other, worried glances. They know I could do it. Angus Lottie speaks up. “Watch it, Basil, wouldn’t want your father to hear about this.”

I glare at him, he needs to shut up before I rip his throat out. I feel my rage start to swell, and I am having difficulty breathing. Every inhale feels like glass. They keep feeding the fire burning inside of me and pretty soon I am not going to have a choice but to let it roar.

Someone reaches for the phone again.

“Let me see your warrant, without one you can’t take a single thing out of this room.”

The person looks to Angus. He laughs. “Basil, surely—“

“Produce the warrant and it’s yours. If not, give it to me.” I extend my hand.

Too many witnesses. It’s the only reason this works. Angus takes the phone and places it in my hands.

“All right. Here you go. Now, please cooperate. We have questions, naturally.”

“ _Naturally_ ,” I sneer. “I won’t be answering them.

Premal sighs. “All right, _Penny_ ,” he softens his voice. “The night before, did anything unusual happen? Was Simon alone at all?”

I can’t believe this is happening, that they think Simon blew up trying to use Dark Magic. I am shaking behind Bunce. She reaches around to grab my hand— her small-calloused palms have become increasingly familiar to me over the last few days.

“No. He was with us all night.” She answers calmly– she is stronger than I am right now.

“What about after you went to sleep,” Premal questions.

Penny looks over to me and I crumble. He was with me after Penny went to sleep. He was under me, telling me how much he loved me, whispering my name between the sheets. He was everything. He _is_ everything.

“He was with me.” It is the quietest I have made my voice in days.

“Doing what,” someone questions.

“None of your fucking business,” I snap.

“Did you help him?”

I growl. I am too hungry to get this angry. “I _helped_ him get undressed, and then I kissed my boyfriend stupid. After, we fell asleep and didn’t move all night. Is that what you fucking want to know?”

I start to see red. They are ruining everything. Ruining his soft lips and sweet kisses. Ruining his taste, his rose—gold skin, and his beautiful arching back. They are taking him from me and making him into something ugly. They are trying to stain Simon Snow.

Premal sees my face and he must know. “Basil, take it easy. No one cares about you and your boyfriend _fucking_.”

And that does me in, because he spits out the word ‘fucking’ like it is something ugly, when anything with Simon is nothing short of pure magic.

I tower over him and shove him against the wall.

“Baz!” Penny shouts behind me.

I punch the wall beside Premal’s face, through the drywall.

“Watch your mouth,” I hiss in his ear before I storm out of the flat.                 

**60 Hours Missing**

**SIMON**

This time I don't try to open my eyes. I keep them pressed shut and reach out a hand, it still comes back with soft dirt. I try to move a leg and feel more dirt pressed around me. I am too afraid to try anything else. My heart starts to beat fast in my chest. I am starting to panic. I want to scream, to cry for help, to thrash around. I want to know. But instead I keep my eyes closed and try to slow my breathing.

 _Calm. Inhale. Exhale._  

I know panicking is going to make everything worse. I need to stay calm. I can't be afraid. I focus on him— on cool lips pressed to mine, murmurs of my name, promises of a life together.

_Baz. Baz. Baz._

His name is still burning in my brain as I slip back into sleep, weary and exhausted, my breathing slow and shallow.


	18. Information

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading and commenting! You're all awesome! :)

**64 Hours Missing**

**BAZ**

“You need to eat.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“When did you eat last?”

I shrug.

“ _Baz_.”

Penny sounds exasperated. She’s standing in the door of Simon’s room. I wrap Simon’s favourite blanket tighter around me. I am not sure how long I have been laying here. I don’t want to think about time. If I think about time; about days, hours, minutes, and seconds, I think about how long Simon has been gone. How I don’t know where here is.

 _Is he eating? Is he safe? Is he dead?_ He didn’t even have a shirt on when everything happened, he could be outside freezing in a field waiting for me to find him. Every second I am not out looking for him I am failing him. I am letting him die. I can't do this one thing for him. I don't even know where to start.

This is why I don’t think about time.

I hiss as Penny opens the curtains. Apparently she is going for tough love today. “Crowley, Baz. You smell like death.”

“I am dead,” I counter dramatically.

“Go and eat.”

“No.”

“Simon—”

“Don’t.”

“Simon would—”

“ _Don’t_ ," my voice comes out sharp.

She sighs. “Don’t what,” she challenges.  

“Don’t be a heartless bitch,” I snap. “Don’t fucking use his name to get me to do what you want—you’re better than that, Bunce.”

“'Actually, I'm not. I am a heartless bitch, and I'm not losing you too. Simon would want you to eat. He _needs_ you to eat. And if you eat, I promise not to tell him what you just called me, because he will break your nose again, on top of the black eye I’m about three seconds away from giving you.”

“He _needs_ me to find him.”

“And how exactly are you going to bloody find him? You're a starving vampire who is so hungry he can't even get out of bed, let alone hold up his wand properly. It's pathetic— you can't help him like this. Stop being weak, Basil.”

Something inside me cracks. Simon's voice, dream—like and sweet, telling me I need this. I need strength.

Did he know? Did he know I would stop trying?

I look up at Penny from under the sheets. She has her hand on her hip and she’s glaring down at me. She has a point.

“Fine.” I mumble and make the effort to get up.

She smiles, the first real smile I’ve seen in days.

“Good.”

\---

I take Simon’s ipod with me. He loves music, and I feel guilty that I’ve never really paid attention to what he listens to. For all the time we spend together I am starting to think there is so much more I have to learn about him.

I scroll through his playlists and my heart hits the floor. He has one called **Baz <3.**

Simon Snow is a sap (something I do know about him). I don't deserve to be a playlist on his ipod. I already feel the tears in my eyes as I sit on the forest floor and wait. I am too exhausted today to even attempt a calling spell.

The first song is by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs— The Wedding Song. I take a shaky breath and hit play. The melody is beautiful. The lyrics rip me apart.

I am wreck before the song even ends.

**68 Hours Missing**

**PENNY**

Baz already looks better when he comes back. The greyness of his skin has faded and even though his cheeks are still too sunken I can see a clarity in his eyes that has been missing. He’s sharp again.

“What did you eat?” I ask him as he strolls into the kitchen and starts pouring a glass of water.

He raises his eyebrow at me and smirks, “Do you actually want to know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

I don’t know why I even asked. I’ve never cared about his eating habits before. Part of me just wants to make sure he got enough.

“I drained eight rabbits," he says casually.

“Oh, that’s good?”

“Yes, Penny— it’s very good.”

I try not to smile. He hasn’t used my first name in days. More progress.

“So.” He turns to me, and I know he’s been thinking. “Fancy a visit to a bar?”

I laugh because I have no idea how else to react. “What kind of bar?” I ask.

“The kind your mother told you to stay away from.”

 He’s grinning, and his eyes are dark. He looks terrifying. I don’t know what he has planned, but I am sure as hell not letting him go alone.

“All right.”

“Okay.”

He still has that terrifying grin.

**BAZ**

Penny is walking tight behind me. The alley to the bar is enough to make me want to turn around. But I don’t. I hold my head high and keep my face impassive. I narrow my eyes at anyone who tries to look at us. Only a few creatures are brave enough to hold my gaze.

They are creatures.

You won’t find people where we are going.

Even the mages who frequent this place are so far gone you would never know they once had a personality, a family, a purpose. They have fallen so hard into Dark Magic there is nothing left to them. They hiss and spit and scratch their skin raw waiting for their next hit of magic. It is the crack den of our world.

I open the door to darkness with occasional pockets of blue and purple lights spilling into the room. The music is loud— some weird electronic sounds that you can get lost in. Which suits the needs of the patrons just fine. Creatures come here to get lost.

We pass a few Elves who look up and smirk. Their once beautiful long hair has been shorn close to their heads. Their eyes bug out of their sockets and their pointed ears are missing pieces. _Morons_. They gave up the forest, their connection with nature and for what?

I start to seethe thinking the Coven would ever accuse Simon of _this_ , of becoming this.

I am looking for the shapeshifters. They run this bar and know everything there is about the magical world, including the dark parts. It is what happens when you can pose as a pigeon in London and witness a murder.

I spot them at the back occupying three booths. I am relieved to see they are all in human form (for now). I grab Penny’s hand and pull her in front of me, leaving my arm draped protectively around her.

“Okay, Bunce. You’re up,” I whisper into her ear.

“Shapeshifters?” She whispers back.

“Yes. They're unpredictable. They aren’t going to like me on principle, but they have a soft spot for mages. Mages have always been kind to them.”

“I know,” she snaps. Of course she does.

“Good. Now, when I give the signal, I’ll need you to start crying.”

“What? I’m not a bloody actress, I can’t just—”

“You will. You need to,” I say calmly.

“I’m a heartless bitch, remember?”

I try not to laugh. “I have faith in your abilities, Bunce. So, when I clear my throat, you need to cry.”

Penny shakes her head, and sighs stubbornly. “My mother is going to kill me.”

“We aren’t telling her about this.”

**PENNY**

I am cursing myself for letting Baz talk me into going with him. Although, he didn’t actually talk me into anything, I agreed immediately because I am an idiot.

At least four sets of eyes turn to look at us as we approach the booths at the back of the bar. I am not sure how to start the conversation, or what to ask, or what Baz needs from me. We should have planned this better.

I trip over something on the floor. I can’t see well enough to tell what it is.

“Don’t look down, keep moving,” Baz whispers to me, his hands still reassuringly holding onto my shoulders. A cold sweat starts on my back. Great snakes, why is it so dark in here?

We stop just before the center booth and I nervously pull at my hair. The shapeshifter closest to me raises an eyebrow. He is about the only one I can see clearly.

“Yeah?” His voice is deep, almost a growl. I take in his shaggy hair and dark eyes. He looks like a bear.

I wonder if that is his animal of choice, if all the shifters look like their main animal. I remember studying their species at Watford. They can technically transform into anything, but they favour certain forms— some animals come easier for them than others.

I take a deep breath and think of Simon. He needs us and we need answers.

“I'm hoping you can help.” My voice comes out strong, even though I am shaking.

Baz presses his cool hand to my back and the contact steadies me slightly.

“We don’t help bloodsuckers, kid.” The bear keeps his face hard.

“I'm not—”

I trail off because he obviously wasn’t talking about me. The shapeshifter keeps looking at me. I can’t figure out if his eyes are brown or black in this light. I also can’t figure out why this is what I am choosing to focus on. It doesn’t matter. Answers, Penny. We need answers.

I try again. “Please…our friend, he’s gone. He… we need help.”

The bear sighs heavily. “What makes you think we can help?”

“I don’t know," I answer truthfully.

“Who is he? Mage? Vampire?” He hisses through his teeth on the word vampire. I can feel Baz tense behind me.

“Neither," I tell him.

“We don’t find Normals.”

He goes back to his beer, and I know I am about to lose his interest.

“He isn’t a Normal, not technically.”

He looks back to me, the same hard look in his eyes. “You’re not making sense, kid.”

I start to panic. I don't know what to say, how do I explain Simon?

“It’s Simon Snow," Baz says. His voice is a whisper.

The tables around us burst into laughter.

The shifter snickers. “If you’re just having a go at it kid, you can leave now.”

“We’re serious,” Baz states flatly. The softness to his voice is gone, replaced with a hardness that is oddly soothing.

 “You think we're going to help you find the kid who is currently wanted by the Coven for Dark Magic charges. I don’t think so.”

“Shit,” I mumble.

The shifter laughs. “Did you think we wouldn’t know? You don’t think the Coven hasn’t already been in here poking around, putting us all at risk.”

I straighten. “Simon doesn’t use Dark Magic,” I declare loudly.

The bear shakes his head. “The Coven doesn’t agree with you, kid.”

Baz clears his throat behind me.

I picture Simon dead. It’s the first thing that pops into my head. Maybe it was already there, buried in my consciousness, my brain trying to keep it out.

My bottom lip starts to tremble as I picture Simon’s lifeless body, all the colour drained from him, his eyes unresponsive and still. His curiosity and bravery taken. The tears are sliding down my face before I can even remind myself to cry.

The shifter looks away uncomfortably. I get it now. I get what Baz needs.

I start to wail.

People hate watching someone cry.

“Please,” I choke out between sobs. “He’s my best friend. He…he saved us. We need to find him.”

I feel the snot running down my nose but make no effort to wipe it away. I watch as the bear's eyes flick between myself and Baz. He's softening.

“And you, vampire? What’s your stake in this,” he asks suspiciously.

Baz steps forward slightly. “Simon Snow is the love of my life.” The way he says it, not a single person would dare laugh. Baz holds the gaze of the shifter in front of me. He exhales and adds, “ _Please_.”

I can see the shifter wavering.

Someone else at the table whispers angrily to him. “Charlie, _no_.”

 He shakes his head. “Okay, what do you need to know?”

“Everything,” Baz and I answer at the same time.

**CHARLIE**

I don’t know why I agree to help them. I must be getting soft. They just looked so desperate. I know who the vampire is—he’s the Pitch kid from the Watford attacks. He didn’t ask for his life. I can respect that at least.

I tell them everything I know, which might be less than they were hoping for, but it is all I can give.  There are some things even we can’t see.

“There's a group of vampires— they want to take over the Coven. They plan on replacing mages, on trying to take their magic. They’ve been targeting your friend for months.”

“But, why Simon?” The girl asks.

I give them a strange look. "I thought it was obvious— he's the key, what they need to steal magic.”

They both frown at me.

"That doesn't make sense. Simon isn’t magical anymore.” The girl’s voice is hoarse.

I look at them confused. Surely they know?

“But he is?”

**72 Hours Missing**

**SIMON**

I think I might be running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics Baz is referencing:
> 
> Some kind of violent bliss  
> Led me to love like this  
> One thousand deaths my dear  
> I'm dying without you here
> 
> In flames I sleep soundly  
> With angels around me  
> I lay at your feet  
> You're the breath that I breathe


	19. Six feet under

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading and commenting! <3
> 
> Apologies for any obvious errors in this chapter. I haven't gone over it quite as much as I would like to, but any changes I might make will just be to structure/grammar/etc. The story will stay the same if I update at all! :)

**72 Hours Missing**

**SIMON**

Each breath is getting harder to take. I want to slip back into sleep, it was easier when I was asleep. I didn’t have to think about breathing.

I can feel something gritty in my mouth. I am careful to only breathe from my nose.

Baz would be so proud. “About bloody time you mouth—breather,” he would laugh at me. And then he would kiss me. Baz’s lips are a work of art. They make you think— they make you question everything. He makes me question everything. This is what I hold onto now.

My breaths are so shallow I start to wonder if I am really even breathing at all.

**BAZ**

I narrow my eyes at the shifter as he leads us to a back room.

"Too loud," he mumbles as an explanation.

I don't trust him. I’ve spent the last year helping Simon come to terms with his loss. I would have noticed if he still had magic. _He_ would have noticed. Simon loves magic too much not to have.

“What do you mean he still is?” I ask as soon as the shifter closes the door to a private room.

The music is muffled in the small space, and everything is covered in dark velvet. I shudder thinking about what they must use this room for.

The shifter sits down on a black couch. I stay standing. Penny rolls her eyes but stays beside me.

“Ah, look, I thought you knew," he starts, "once the vampires found out, it was all anyone talked about. Plus, your friend—”

“ _Boyfriend,_ ” I correct.

He gives me a look. “Yeah, okay, _boyfriend—_ he’s always had enemies, being the Chosen One and all. Lots of dark creatures were thrilled when they found out they could use him still. The vampires," he lowers his voice, "they have been making a lot of promises about what will change once they are in power. Promises that spoke to a few different creatures in here. Doesn’t help that your boyfriend made more enemies when he smashed that vampire’s head in.”

I raise an eyebrow at him casually, like this isn’t all new information to me, “Oh?”

He lowers his voice more. “Yeah, few extras who were reluctant joined the cause after that. They’ve been tracking him.”

_I am a fucking idiot._

The shifter looks at me and tilts his head. “Look, vamp, you couldn’t have known. They knew you would be watching, they were careful.”

“Get out of my head,” I hiss.

To his credit he has the decency to look uncomfortable. **“** Sorry, I don’t mean to, habit of the shifters, you know?”

“Then try a little harder to _not_ indulge.”

“Look, vamp, you want my help?”

Penny squeezes my arm. “Sorry, he’s sorry. Just, _please_. Tell us more.”

The shifter softens his gaze at her. I should probably shut up, we would get answers quicker. Of course, he should probably stop saying things that piss me off.

“I'm sorry about your friend, kid. We’ve all heard stories about him, he seems like he was a good one.”

“ _Is_ a good one.” I correct him again.

The shifter sighs, shaking out his long hair. “Vamp, I can’t fucking tell you anything if you keep interrupting me.”

“Then I suggest you stop giving me reasons to interrupt you,” I say evenly. I take out a cigarette and use my wand to light it.

It won’t impress, or terrify him the same way it does other vampires, but it will remind him I can control magic in a way he will never be able to.

He eyes me, watching my cigarette as I bring it to my mouth and take a drag.

“You have a death wish?” He asks.

I laugh. “Yeah, sure. Something like that.”

He shakes out his hair again and turns back to Penny. “The vampires figured out a few months ago they could use your friend’s magic to their benefit. They started to track him, and they sent that yellow—haired vamp after him. Can’t remember his name for the life of me. But, he was high up in the ranks. Still had his fangs, used to be a mage even. He was supposed to bring your friend back to their den, or whatever, but he ran into the lot of you.” He pauses to gesture at Penny and me.

I arch my eyebrow and take another drag from my cigarette.

“Well, suppose you know how that ended. Anyway, it pissed off a few more dark creatures, and a hell of a lot more vampires. Your friend was being called a vampire slayer. Creatures were whispering that he could kill vampires with his bare hands— you know how all that dramatic re—telling bullshit goes.”

I sigh loudly. “He _did_ kill him with his bare hands.”

The shifter narrows his eyes at me. “What did I _just_ fucking tell you?”

I shrug. “I'm adding to the facts, that isn't the same as interrupting.”

“You’re a bit difficult, aren’t you, vamp?”

I shrug again, exactly like Simon used to whenever I accused him of being difficult at Watford.

The shifter lowers his voice again. “He didn’t really kill him with his bare hands, right? I mean he must have used some magic.”

He licks his lips eagerly, like he can't wait for confirmation that Simon Snow is capable of killing monsters without magic.

“He used his hands.” I keep my voice indifferent.

He stares at me, expectantly. Shifters are nothing but a bunch of bloody gossips.

Penny nervously twitches beside me. I keep myself perfectly still and stare back at him. I don't trust anyone who can read minds. I keep mine blank. I can tell he is searching it for something, for another piece of information he can hoard over someone.

Finally, he raises an eyebrow and lets out a whistle, like he can’t believe how stupid I am. “So, you mean to tell me your boyfriend kills a vampire with his bare hands, and you don’t stop to think about what that means for _you_?”

I snort, “Why would I?”

“You’re a vamp,” he laughs.

I glare and grind my teeth. I am not going to dignify his speculations with a response. Simon didn’t kill _me_ , he killed a vampire, and I loathe vampires.

Penny leans forward a bit so the shifter is forced to look over to her. “Charlie, please continue. This is very helpful.”

She has tears in her eyes and her voice is wobbly, it makes her sound young. I did ask her to cry, but part of me thinks she keeps laying it on this heavy to make up for any reservations the shifter has about me. Or maybe she’s crying for the both of us, because I can’t right now. He can’t see me cry.

He smiles kindly at her. “The vampires started coming in here, looking around, asking about Dark Magic. They knew, after their last attempt produced a dead vampire, that your friend wasn’t going to be easy to take. It took a few days, but they eventually got what they needed.”

“Who gave it to them?” I try to keep my voice neutral. I want to shout. But, I can’t. You don’t control a conversation by letting your emotions run wild. I clench my fists at my side. Someone is responsible for this.

“Are you thick, vamp,” the shifter snarls. “I said stop interrupting.”

“Who gave them the Dark Magic?” I ask again. Calmly. Confidently. A bit chillingly. Make him think he doesn’t have a choice but to answer.

I can see his leg start to twitch, and I know I am pushing my luck. If he shifts, it could be days before he shifts back.

He tilts his head at me, like he has me figured out. “Why, you gonna kill ‘em?”

“Maybe, who knows,” I shrug casually.

He shakes his head. “It don’t matter.”

My magic bubbles. Nothing like how Simon’s used to, but I feel it at my fingers without asking it to be there. I’m furious, because it does matter. Someone is responsible. Someone needs to understand what they’ve done.

“Baz,” Penny whispers to me. “It doesn’t matter now. We can find out later.”

I nod my head, only to keep the shifter talking. But Penny's wrong. We can't find out later, this is our chance and I need to know. They are the reason Simon is missing. The reason these bloody vampires were able to get to him at all. The reason I couldn’t protect him. I start recalling the Pitch curses Fiona once taught me. Nothing illegal, but nothing exactly kind either. I plan on using them should I ever get a name.

“So, the vamps got what they needed and we got one of our own, Iris, to tail ‘em, fly around as a sparrow. She’s a real good sparrow. The group of ‘em came back here bragging about this impressive fire magic they did. How they made the flat go up in flames to kill you two—”

Penny inhales sharply.

“Sorry, kid,” he mumbles.

“But, our flat was fine...and Simon...he was just gone. How?” Penny asks.

“Good question, but 'unno really. They did something to protect Simon and yank him out, and leave whoever else in there. Suppose you got out all right somehow though, that's good. But yeah, they wanted the flat to be okay after. They didn’t want the Coven digging around, they didn’t want any evidence.”

“That is incredibly Dark Magic,” Penny breathes.

“Yeah, kid— it is.”

“And, Simon?”

“When they were in here bragging someone asked ‘What about him’? And they all started laughing shouting ‘we got him, we got him’.”

He stops talking. Penny and I wait. He takes a sip of his beer.

_He’s joking._

He shakes his head at me _._

_Get out of my head._

“Wait, that’s it?” Penny questions. He shrugs. “That’s ‘bout all I know.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” My voice breaks.

“Calm down, vamp.”

“Stop fucking calling me that. Where is he?”

“I 'unno.”

Penny makes a strange sound beside me. I look over and her face is twisted. “Baz, what if…what if they already killed him.”

“No. Penny, don’t. He’s _fine_. We just have to find him.”

I turn back to the shifter. I can feel bile in my throat. “Where is he," I hiss. I step closer to him, my palms already burning from the flame I desperately want to call.

Penny's fingers dig into my arm. “Baz, he doesn’t know. He told us everything he knows.”

I shake her off. “Yeah, I’m not so sure he has.”

I grab my wand before I can think better of it. It would be so easy. The shifter doesn't look afraid. He should. I don’t think he knows how easy it would be for me.

He lets out a long exhale. “Careful, vamp.” He keeps his voice even. “Truth spells are illegal.”

I keep my hand steady, even though the rest of me is shaking. “My _name_ is Tyrannus Basilton Grimm Pitch. _Not_ vamp. Call me that one more time and see if I give a fuck about illegal.”

Penny steps between the shifter and myself blocking my clear path. “Bloody hell _,_ Bunce _. Move.”_

She doesn't look at me. “Thank you for your time.” She turns her voice to honey to address him.

 He nods. “You get him out of here, kid.”

She’s already pushing on me, leading me towards the door. I can't get to him without hurting her, and she knows I won't.

**PENNY**

The walk back out of the bar is even more terrifying. Everyone watches us, likely because Baz looks like he is about to murder someone. When we finally break out into the cold night air I start gearing up to yell at him. He’s a bloody arsehole who does nothing but make my life difficult.

I don't get the chance. As soon as the door bangs shut Baz screams into the abandoned alley.

“Fuck! Fuck you, Simon. _Fuck_. _You_.”

He is spitting and his mouth goes wet as each curse comes flying out.

“You fucking bloody prat. You’re fucking kidding me, right? This is a fucking joke. Fuck you.”

He kicks at a row of garbage cans and screams again. He keeps kicking until I am worried he's going to break his foot. His hair has fallen in his face and he keeps sobbing between his obscenities. I feel like I am watching someone unravel in slow motion. Words keep running through my head as I look at him uselessly— Anguish. Pain. Grief. Broken.

“Baz?” He doesn’t stop.

“Bloody fucking moron. Fucking idiot. I'm going to kill him myself, Pen. I'm going to find him and then kill him for this, for doing this to you, to me, to us.”

 He sounds manic. I don’t interrupt to tell him that he may not get the chance to kill Simon.

_Slicks and snakes, stay positive._

“ _Oi_ , vamp?” A shrill voice echoes through the alley. Baz snaps his head up, his fangs gleaming and his eyes red.

“ _Baz_ , calm down,” I whisper.

He’s growling, staring at a girl stepping into the light and all I can think is— Merlin, if he kills her I have no idea how I am going to clean up the mess. Which is entirely fucked up. _Fuck, what is wrong with you?_ Don’t think like this. It does no good.

I am waging a war with my inner monologue.

“You best put those away if you want to find your boyfriend," the girl says. Her voice comes out singing and Baz’s growl turns into something desperate and cruel, something entirely unlike Baz.

She blinks cautiously and cocks an eyebrow, like she is daring him to lunge for her. I swear they stare at each other for hours. Finally, she scrunches her nose and pushes a lock of short brown hair behind her ears.

“Control your vamp, or I walk,” she huffs at me. Her dark eyes flick over to Baz but she doesn’t waiver.

I place my hand on his shoulder. “ _Baz,_ ” I warn.

He keeps snarling as she tilts her head and gives him an amused smile. “ _Getoutofmyhead_.” He snaps through the words and lets out a low whine as he presses his hands to his temples.

 _Shifter_.

She laughs, a soft, airy sound that doesn’t seem to match the sharpness of the rest of her.

“Iris,” she says to me, extending her hand.

I extend my own hand in return, which she grips firmly. It’s surprising, given how small and light her frame is. I can feel every bone in her fingers as we shake hands, but she’s clearly strong. I decide she isn’t someone to underestimate.

I see the sparrow in her. Her build is slender, birdlike. I notice the yellow ring around her iris, standing out against the darkness of the rest of her eyes. _Iris_ , of course.

She grins at me. “My parents loved sparrows too, when they saw my eyes for the first time the name picked itself. Or, so they tell me. Could just be bullshit.”

I nod politely.

Baz keeps his eyes fixed on her. “Where is he?” He inhales on the last word, and a sob gets stuck in his throat.

Iris gives him a momentary glance of pity. “They took him to the woods, the ones by Watford. They said they needed to keep him hidden until it was time.”

Baz's eyes go hard. “You saw?”

Iris doesn't realize her mistake. “Yes, of course.”

He takes a step towards her. He is so close I can see her hair move with each deep exhale he makes. His chest is heaving. “And you didn’t think to help him?” He hisses, and the sound is visceral. It’s terrifying.

“Vamp, you know we don’t get involved,” Iris says. She stays perfectly still.

“ _Baz_.” I am warning him again.

“You’re a useless fucking species.” Baz clenches his jaw after each word, like it is painful for him to even talk to her. Iris adjusts her jacket, she doesn't seem to understand how dangerous he is right now.

She gives him a careless shrug. “Perhaps, but if you want to really talk about _useless_ your boyfriend has probably spent the last three days hoping you will show up, and yet here you are, nowhere near him, just letting him die.”

She's in his head, echoing his own thoughts and I see something inside him snap. He hesitates for just a moment because he is still Baz, under everything else, all of his anger and grief and pain, he is still always fighting against himself.

The moment of hesitation is all I need. I am quick as I call for my magic and shout at him, **"Stand your ground,”** and, **"Up the creek without a paddle.”**

His wand comes flying out of his sleeve and into my hand just as Iris takes a gentle step back.

His growl gets stuck and he turns his head to glare at me, his face filled with betrayal. “Crowley, Bunce! I wasn’t going to do anything," he yells at me.

_Liar._

“Yes, you were,” Iris sings again. “It’s okay, vamp. No hard feelings.”

"Sorry, Basil," I offer to him.

I feel momentarily guilty, but I need answers, and I can't exactly get them if he is trying to kill everyone we talk to.

Iris looks over to me. “My apologies, mage. You’re witnessing centuries of hatred come alive here—your friend is in the middle of the woods, near the clearing with the oak.”

_Right, she can read my thoughts._

“Not all of them,” she winks.

"This is good, we can find him. We know the woods.”

I feel hopeful for the first time all night.

“There’s something else,” Iris adds hesitantly. She looks at me and chews on her lip. Three words and my fleeting hope has disintegrated. I brace myself.

“The vamps needed to hide him, so he isn’t exactly above ground.”

“What?” I look at her, confused.

“He’s buried,” she offers, like this clarifies my concern.

I stare blankly at her.

“I thought you were supposed to be clever?” She raises a dark eyebrow at me.

“Penny— they buried him alive.” Baz simplifies for me, his voice barely audible.

I feel like I am having a heart—attack. Surely, they didn’t. The world goes into a haze. This is a dream, just a terrible _terrible_ dream.

“Well… he _was_ alive,” Iris adds.

Does she think she’s being helpful?

“And now?” I ask stupidly.

“Could you survive three days buried in a shallow grave?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Best prepare yourselves, then.” She turns on her heels and walks away.

“ _Baz_ ,” I cry.

“He’s fine.”

“But—”

“He’s Simon Snow. He’s fine.”

“But what if—”

“No. He’s fine. He has to be.”

He sounds so sure I let myself believe it.


	20. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this yesterday, but it wasn't quite done! I hope you all enjoy :).
> 
> I am still working on the next chapter (I realize this one ends terribly)! I apologize in advance if I don't get to post the next part until Friday. 
> 
> As always, thank you to all of those reading and commenting! It means a lot <3

**75 Hours Missing**

**BAZ**

I called Fiona from the car and told her to be ready in ten minutes. It turns out Simon missing is a problem exactly within her paygrade as a vampire hunter. Penny wanted to call her parents, but I argued against it (they are too close to the Coven). Plus, I figured Fiona would be more useful. She’s powerful, merciless, and a Pitch— meaning she’s brilliant with fire. She’s exactly what we need.

My temples start to throb and I am clenching my jaw. We are fifteen minutes into our drive and I already regret my decision to call Fiona (and I take back my comment about her being brilliant). So far her only contributions have been yelling at me from the passenger seat and giving me a migraine.

“ _Jesus_. Slow down,” she shouts at me.

“We don’t have time,” I yell back.

“We have time.”

“ _Aunt Fiona,_ ” I hiss with gritted teeth.

“If you don’t slow down you’re going to fucking kill us all and then it won’t matter if we have time or not. _Basil!_ The pedestrian had the right of way.”

“Relax, it’s not like I hit them. It’s fine. They’re fine.”

“Pull over, I'm driving.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Listen to her before I throw up in your back seat.”

I look at Penny quickly in the rear view mirror. She is holding her stomach with her head pressed against the window.

“Bunce, if you throw up in my car I am kicking you out.”

She catches my eye in the mirror and glares. “Then you might want to pull over because I'm pretty sure you’re going to need me later.”

I sigh irritably at both of them and pull the car over. I don’t know why everyone hates my driving.

 _“Because you’re reckless,"_ Simon would laugh. _“So are you,”_ I would counter. And then we would grin like idiots because we match. We always match.

I swallow deeply and try to stop thinking about Simon. I am already opening my door before the car is even in park. I sprint to the other side and slip into the passenger seat. Fiona is smirking.

“Not a word about numpties,” I say to her.

She laughs, “I wasn’t going to make a comment.”

“No?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“No.” She matches her eyebrow to mine. “I was going to say, it's a lovely night to kill vampires.”

I snort. Only Fiona.

She pulls back onto the road and I try not to think about anything. He can wait another hour. What’s another hour after this many? _Everything. Another hour is everything._ I groan and pull at my hair. Why is she driving so slowly?

“Relax,” Fiona hushes at me. I can’t. She knows I can’t.

I turn around in my seat. Penny is still looking out the window.

“All right, Bunce?”

She looks over to me, her dark eyes glossy. “Fine,” she mumbles.

I reach back and take her hand. I try to run a soothing pattern over her knuckles. “Penny?” She doesn’t respond.

“Penny, come on, look at me.” I smile at her but she stares blankly back.

“Penny, he’s coming home with us. He’s fine. He will be fine. I promise.” I say it just as much for her benefit as my own. I can’t go into this thinking he is already gone.

“You can’t promise.”

“I can.”

_I have to._

**PENNY**

We get as close to the woods as possible with the car. I get sick as soon as the cold air hits my face. I feel weak, and pathetic. I need to pull it together. I wipe my hand across my mouth. Baz and Fiona stare at me with their piercing eyes and sharp jawlines. I remind myself never to go to a Pitch family reunion.

“I'm fine.”

They both nod. _I am not fine._

I am not sure if the growing knot in my stomach is directed at the prospect of facing a pack of brutal vampires (is pack the right term? Herd? Brood? I don’t know) or if it is from the thought of finding Simon. Or more accurately, _how_ we will find Simon. He can’t be alive still. It would be impossible for anyone to survive. Even Simon Snow.

“You need to stay focused,” Baz whispers sternly in my ear as he steps in front of Fiona to take the lead. He’s the only one who can see.

“Yeah,” I mutter.

He’s right. Even if Simon is dead I need to be focused. I don’t want to die or be turned. If I am not careful either could be a realistic ending tonight.

We fall silent as we make our way through the towering trees to the centre of the woods, to the clearing Iris promised he would be in. I wish it wasn’t so cold, or so dark, it makes everything seem more ominous. Each sound echoes in the forest and sends a chill through me. I hate the haunting noise our feet make with each bitter crunch of frozen snow. Our shaky breaths aren’t much better. If I can hear us, _they_ can hear us. We keep walking until the trees start to thin slightly. We must be approaching the clearing. Baz stops ahead of us, my heart starts pounding in my ears.

“Baz?”

“Hush,” he hisses.

I straighten my ring as Baz and Fiona grab their wands.

“They know,” he whispers into the dark. “They’re here.”

People always talk about the flight or fight response. We all have it. Agatha’s response was flight. Simon’s was always fight. The way I see it, they’re both idiots. Both options are high stakes with low returns. You need to think. You need to make calculated choices— you can’t let fight or flight take over. If you do, you’re bound to make a mistake, to get yourself into a situation you can’t quite overcome. I feel the adrenaline pulsing through me, telling me to run. It is boiling in my brain, scrambling my thoughts.

I hear the snarl of something not quite human, feel the heat from Baz and Fiona’s fire, and see the darkness as everything goes to hell.

_We’re all idiots._

**SIMON**

I wake with the realization that I am still alive. I must be, because I can hear someone. Or something. But I hear it. Sounds. Life. Proof!

Proof that I haven’t been hiding in the darkness of my mind, that I am not a shadow in the vast emptiness of death. Proof that I am still here. Relief floods through me— I want to let out the breath I’ve been holding for so long.

 _Not yet_ , I tell myself.

 _Patience_. I smile on the word. I think of Baz as I whispered the same word into his skin.

My pulse gets stronger as the sounds get louder. I keep my eyes squeezed shut and tears slide down my face. _Merlin,_ it just feels so good to know I am not dead. To know I can see Penny and Baz again. That I can eat sour cherry scones. To know that I can live.

Finally, the earth starts moving around me. _Finally. Finally. Finally._ The weight is coming off, first my feet are free, and then my legs, and then my chest. I can’t remember what it feels like to not be compressed. To be able to inhale fully.

A full breath _._ A full, deep and wondrous breath. I am ready, prepared to feel air on my skin, in my lungs, and to feel free. Prepared to feel anything at all.

Cool fingers wrap around my wrist as the last of the dirt is pushed off of me. _Baz_. The tears come more freely. _Baz. Baz. Baz._ I knew it would be him. It’s always him.

I get pulled to a sitting position and I am so relieved it takes me a minute to realize I still need to open my eyes. My mind is hazy, it feels thick with sleep. I think I hear a scream, but I can’t be sure. My movements and thoughts are heavy. I try to focus, because I don’t want to miss this moment. This glorious fucking moment that I’ve been desperate for, clinging to, hoping would be real.

Cold hands press against my skin, and I feel myself leaning into the touch. He’s always so cold.

“Baz," I whisper.

It feels like talking for the first time. My mouth is filled with grit, but I can say his name. That’s all that matters. His name. Him. I can speak.

_I am here._

Something connects violently with my stomach. Pain sears into my belly as my ribs crack. I wheeze, spluttering dirt as I try to rasp. Rough cold hands grab for me.

“Baz?” I whimper foolishly. Because of course it isn’t. My eyes fly open as I hear something hiss. I can smell metal, and earth, and dampness. I can smell death.

_No._

_NO, WAKE UP._

It is exactly like my nightmares.

**BAZ**

They just send two to start, but I know there is more. They are distracting us, weakening our magic for what is to come. They go up in flames like tissue paper. One minute they are hissing and growling, and then Fiona throws a ball of fire and it is over before I can blink. Their ashes fall slowly to the ground like black snow. It would be over so quick for me, I wouldn’t even have time to feel it— the thought is oddly comforting.

“Everyone all right?” Fiona barks. She’s breathing heavily as the flame in her hand goes out.

“Yes,” Penny and I exhale.

She turns on me, eyes blazing and hits me across the back of the head. “ _Crowley_ , what the fuck was that for?”

“You know what.” There is venom in her voice.

She’s right, I already know where the lecture is going. I take a step back (Fiona really is terrifying when she’s pissed).

“ _Basil_ , listen to me very carefully, because I'm only saying this once.” She sounds calm now, the bark gone from her voice. It’s more unsettling. “You're not to use fire tonight. That’s why I'm here. You can use all of the curses you want, but if I see even one hint of that fucking blue flame of yours again I'm going to set you on fire myself, got it?”

I look into her green eyes, piercing and angry. I don’t look away when I give my answer. “Got it.” I try to sound convincing, like I understand the consequences of my actions, like I am going to listen to what she says. We both know I don’t listen.

_“You always do whatever you want, don’t you? You’re selfish, Baz. You act like the bloody Queen.”_

Shut up.

Fucking Simon Snow. Even when he’s not here it’s his voice criticizing me.

“Baz?” Penny interrupts.

She has gone pale, a slight tremble to her lip, and her hands are worrying the hem of her coat. I reach out and take one of them, intertwining her fingers with mine. I pretend I am doing it only for her, to help her, but I need something to hold onto too.

“Yeah?”

 “Can you hear the others,” she asks quietly. Her voice is shaking.

I’ve heard Penny many things before, but never scared, she is always so stupidly brave, just like Simon. The thought of her scared is troubling.

I pause and focus on listening for them. I consider lying to her, but our relationship isn’t based on lies that make you feel better. We’ve always been unapologetically honest with each other.

“Yes,” I answer.

“So, what do we do now?” Her words come out unstable and thin. I need her to be strong. She can’t speak with magic if her words are weak.

 I say the only thing I think will help. “We do what Simon would,—we carry on.”

She tightens her grip on my hand and straightens her shoulders. She almost smiles. I pull Penny forward and Fiona follows behind. We don’t try to quiet our footsteps, they know we are here, might as well make a fucking entrance. We walk a few more minutes before the clearing comes into focus.

“There’s the oak,” Penny whispers.

I resist the urge to make a snarky comment about stating the obvious. _Not the time._ At least I know she can see now. Out of the canopy of trees the moon is shining bright and big overhead, washing everything in an eerie pale light. It is every movie cliché I can think of.

We stop just at the shadows of the woods. A few vampires are on their knees around the oak, digging at the ground like they are playing in a sandbox. I know there are more, likely hidden behind the trees on the other side of the clearing.

I used to love coming here when I was at Watford. Even when Simon was loudly following behind me, trying to catch me in some despicable act, I always thought it was peaceful. I don’t get the same feeling now. The three vampires ahead of us are howling manically like the bloody monsters they are.

“Do they know we are here?” Penny asks me.

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t they doing anything?” Fiona whispers.

“They're waiting.”

“For what?”

I can see both of them trying to understand, looking to me to interpret. I shrug. _Vampires and their fucking theatrics._ We keep watching them dig at the ground. I have no idea what the hell they are doing, or waiting for. Where are the other ones? Then it hits me—t _hey are digging at the ground._

I look over to Penny, she’s frowning, trying to figure it out too.

“Penny, look away,” I hiss at her.

“What?” She scrunches her face in confusion.

“Look away, _now_.”

She still doesn’t get it, but Fiona does.

“Shit,” she exhales as she steps in front of Penny and roughly tries to shove her back, away from the clearing and out of the light of the moon.

“What? No. Stop. Baz? _Fiona_ , what are you—”

We all go silent and watch hands roughly pulling up a limp figure.

_He’s so small._

Fiona presses her hand to Penny’s mouth as she screams. She hunches forward and Fiona catches her around her waist. I stay still and watch. Watch for anything. A twitch, a hint of movement. He isn’t close enough to me to hear it, but I listen for a heartbeat anyway. I would give anything to hear the familiar fast drumming of his pulse.

I hold my breath. He doesn’t move.

 _Move_.

He looks fragile, breakable, nothing how he should.  They keep trying to hold him up, but his body keeps slumping against them. Something inside me grows hot. I don't want them touching him. They shouldn't be touching him. But, I also know I can't move. As soon as I do they will snap his neck, or worse. Of course, assuming he is still alive. The thought makes me break into a cold sweat.

Maybe it isn’t him?

 _Stupid_.

Of course it is him. He’s covered in dirt, and frail, and his skin is tinted blue, but it is him. I can see his bronze curls from here, the ones that could only be his. His brazen, disastrously stupid hair. It is like nothing else in this world.

He stays slumped. He doesn't move as they yank on his delicate limbs. It’s Simon. And I know the truth.  I feel my legs start to buckle as I let the thought slip through my lips. “Simon Snow is dead.”

I forget how to breathe.


	21. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to start by saying I can't write action very well, not that there is tons in this chapter, but I hope it is exciting and enjoyable all the same :)
> 
> Also, huge thank you to everyone reading and commenting. Honestly, it is amazing and you're all wonderful, wonderful people!
> 
> Ps.  
> I feel like I should add that the quote "I want to be your boyfriend. Your terrible boyfriend” is directly from Carry On, so all credit goes to Rainbow Rowell for that one! (Sorry, I can't remember the page and don't have my book with me!)

**PENNY**

I am vaguely aware of tight arms wrapped around me. I seem to be staring at the ground, and I think someone is talking to me. I feel like I am dying. Like someone has ripped my still beating heart straight from my chest.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, but it doesn’t actually feel like it is working. It isn’t pumping the blood where I need it to go. My lungs are just as useless. I can’t seem to inhale. I forget how to breathe, how living even works, and I must be dying, because if Simon Snow can die, none of us stand a chance. We are all fucked.

“It’s okay,” someone whispers into my hair. Fiona? Maybe. Doesn’t matter. They're wrong. Nothing is okay. Nothing will be okay again.

“Penny, Baz— we need to you know, move forward. I'm sorry, but they can still use him—”

I dig my nails into the skin of resilient warm arms. They don’t flinch. It must be Fiona.

 “Let go.” My voice sounds odd. Cold and detached. Muffled through the clouds in my brain echoing: Simon Snow is dead.   _Simon Snow is dead._

Deep down, really deep down, in the depths of my mind where I told myself not to go was a little snippet of hope. I had been holding onto a collection of reassurances that of course he would be okay. Simon couldn’t be dead. Not Simon. _Never_ _Simon_.

He’s always been lucky in death, a small consolation prize for his atrocious luck in life. He was supposed to be invincible. _Untouchable_. Simon Snow would always be okay because he deserved that, at the very least, after everything.

He deserves to be alive.

But he isn’t. He was barely even him. He was a shadow of his former self. In life he was something you couldn’t ignore. A force. A calling. A light. They reduced him to nothing in death. To blue veins on pale, dirty skin. To slender hips and weak shoulders much too small to support the weight of being Simon Snow. They broke the last pieces of him.

Fiona releases her grip and I straighten. I don’t focus on anything, especially Baz.

“Okay,” I say to her.

“Okay, what?” She asks cautiously.

“Okay, let’s go get him. Baz?”

 I don’t look at him as I wait for his response. I adjust my ring on my finger and recall every fire spell I can think of. If Simon is dead, I am going to watch the world burn.

**BAZ**

“Ready.”

I am going to save Simon Snow one last time.

**PENNY**

Fiona marches fearlessly ahead of us. We don’t have a plan. We’re approaching this exactly like Simon would— which, is more than a little concerning now that I think about it. I lengthen my strides to catch up with her. We need a plan.

“Wait, _Fiona_. What are we doing?”

 I am panting when she finally stops walking.

"Why are you asking me?” She spits it out like I’ve annoyed her. Merlin, she’s impossible.

“I don’t know. _You're_ the adult.”

She laughs. “Hardly.”

I try to stay rational. “Look, we need a plan.”

We start to bicker back and forth, no doubt drawing more attention to ourselves.

“Jesus, Penny. You’ve been in battles before and survived. I'm sure you can figure something out!”

“I survived because I _had_ a plan!” My voice rises to just below a yell.

I feel the emotion coming back, the tears at my eyes. But I can’t let it in. I need to be nonchalant and detached. If I let even one shred of emotion back in everything will break. I won’t be able to move. I won’t be able to help. I’ll be stuck in a spiral of my own grief.

“I’ll get him.” Baz’s calm voice interrupts us. I look over and he’s staring at us like we’re children.

“Simon?” I ask stupidly.

“Yes,” he clears his throat. “I’ll get him, you both stay together. They’ll be too fast for you on your own. One of you will always need to be watching the other’s back, okay?”

I think Fiona is going to cry. “Jesus, _Basil_. When did you grow up?”

He ignores her comment. “Okay, you guys stay here. I can take the three by the oak. Watch your right side— I hear movement in the trees there.”

I pull him tightly into a hug. “Be safe,” I warn him.

“I'm going to bring him home, Pen. They won’t use him. I promise. We’ll get our goodbye.” He whispers against my neck and I can feel his breath come out in cold drops against my skin. His confidence is still in place. His assurance. He’s always sure of his choices.

It helps. For whatever reason it helps to know he is going to bring Simon’s body home. He releases me and Fiona watches him closely. Baz sighs and wraps her in a hug of his own. She is wiping her eyes when he pulls away.

“Don’t get kidnapped by numpties.” Fiona tries to bark the words but it comes out soft.

Baz laughs.

“Seriously, _Basil_. Don’t be stupid.”

He smirks as he turns towards the vampires. It is a smirk that only he could manage. Ruthless, just like the rest of him.

**BAZ**

I can’t remember what his voice sounds like, which is ridiculous. It has only been four days, but I swear I can't remember. I try now, to hear the specific cadence he speaks with, the way his voice is quiet and loud all at once, how he still stutters at times despite his best effort. I want to hear him telling me once more with his lopsided grin: “ _I want to be your terrible boyfriend.”_

The vampires have paused, heads snapped up, watching me with careful eyes. No one is stupid. We all know what I am coming for.

As I walk towards them I think of Simon. Of whispered conversations late at night whenever he had a nightmare. I normally woke up to his sobs or screams. But sometimes I didn’t, and I would wake to him asking questions instead, unable to stop thinking.

I pull on my scarf and think of one conversation in particular.

_“Baz?”_

_“Snow?”_

_“What’s your favourite colour?”_

_“Seriously?”_

_“I can’t sleep.”_

_“Why does it matter?”_

_“Because you’re my boyfriend.”_

_“Okay, blue.”_

The next day he came home with a dark blue cashmere scarf. It was something I would have picked out for myself— gorgeous and expensive. He left it draped over my coat.

_“What’s this?”_

_“A gift. Do you like it?”_

His voice came out shaking and his eyes were wide. He was nervous. Nervous to give me a present. A present I knew would have been uncomfortable for him to buy. He would have felt out of place in the type of store you buy a scarf like this from. He likely would have tripped over his words. He would have felt stupid.

_“Simon, you shouldn’t have.”_

He didn’t have money to waste on presents. Not technically. He told me about his gold, but that was put away. A choice he made on his own. He hasn’t looked at it or touched it since. He told me he was saving it for something. He wouldn’t say what.

He lived on a small allowance from Watford, a sort of _sorry about your magic and being an orphan_ fund that allowed him to pay rent and purchase the necessities for life. It didn’t allow for extras.

He had shrugged me off. _“You’re always cold. Consider it a practical investment.”_ He said it like it wasn’t a big deal.

But it was.

Because I noticed that same week he hardly ate anything. He kept telling me he had a stomach bug and wasn’t hungry, but I knew it was because he didn’t have the extra money. He wasted it on me, buying me a blue scarf because I had told him it was my favourite colour. He bought it because he’s Simon, and he was the furthest thing from a terrible boyfriend.

The closer I get to the vampires the more they crowd around him, he’s nothing but a small lump on the ground. They let their fangs fill their mouths as they wait for me, unashamed of what they are. If this were a movie, I am sure we would exchange lines ( _you’ll never get away with this!_ And all of that crap), there would be a few evil laughs and maybe some menacing music in the background. If this were a movie, Simon would still be alive. You don’t kill a protagonist like Simon Snow.

Instead, this is my life. It is four vampires looking at each other, each one ready to kill. A low growl releases from their throats.

I close my eyes and think of Simon’s kisses. Of heat and fire and him. Always him. A blue flame uncurls in my palm. I let it rest, feeling the heat prick my skin gently. When I open my eyes they have all taken a step away from me.

I step closer.

Another step.

Another.

Another.

I can see blue coils of my flame reflecting in their eyes. They seem stunned. No one ever believes the vampire will have fire. I let the flame dance up my arm, just to show them that I can, that I am in control, that it won’t burn me the way I am going to burn them.

One of them, a tall, thin male reaches for Simon and grabs him under his arms. He hoists him up and places him in front of his body, using him as a shield. I feel my lips curl as I hiss. People never stop using him. I notice a new bruise across his ribs and a fresh wave of pain hits me.

 _They did this_.

I let the fire in my palm go out and grab my wand instead. Fire would be too quick, too generous.

“Bloody cowards,” I snarl at them.

I am about to curse them, about to cause their insides to melt, slowly and painfully, and I mean literally. I know the curse. But I don’t get the chance. I feel a wave of pain through my back. It feels like I’ve been hit with a bludgeon. I go to take a step but I can’t move. A rush of air pushes through me and burning bile reaches my throat. It’s magic. Only it feels nothing like it should.

The vampires freeze ahead of me, a confused look on their face. I hear something moving behind me, coming from the forest. _How did I miss them?_

“Sorry, vamp, nothing personal. Can’t have you interfering.” The rough voice comes curling around me from the darkness.

_That voice. That word._

“They are ready for him.”

Charlie steps into my view. He almost looks apologetic as he glances at me with pity. “What did you do,” I hiss at him.

**CHARLIE**

_I didn’t want to._

_They came to me after you left. They knew you were in here asking questions. They knew Iris had told you everything._

_They took her._

_You have to understand._

_They promised she would be okay if I helped, if I got the mage for them._

_We protect our own._

I don’t tell him any of this. He won’t understand and there isn’t a point. If he survives he’ll find me and he’ll kill me regardless of what I say.

**BAZ**

Another figure steps around Charlie. She’s tiny, so tiny I would think she were a child if I couldn’t smell something ugly on her. Something like sulfur and death. I notice the scabs covering her face, slightly hidden from the long blonde hair falling around her. Her features are delicate and soft, which makes the smell all the more unsettling. She’s filled with Dark Magic.

I start to panic thinking about the spell she must have used on me.

“She only used a regular spell on you. It just feels a bit different when the mage is made of Dark Magic,” Charlie says hesitantly. He’s still looking at me.

“Get _out_ of my head!” I shout at him. But, this time I don't mean it. I can use this. I reach out to him, I let him into my mind. I ask for the one thing I want. _Just let me take him home. Just give me this. Please_. Even in my own head the words are a whimper.

“Sorry, vamp,” he whispers.

He turns and addresses the vampires. “He won’t interfere, we can take him now.”

_Take him where?_

Charlie shakes his head. He’s still listening to me.

“Boss says to kill him." The male still holding Simon barks.

“He won’t interfere." Charlie says again.

“Doesn’t matter. Get the mage to burn him.”

Charlie turns around, his eyes wide. He hesitates and one of the vampires grabs him aggressively. “We have a deal. Get the mage to burn him or we will make sure your sparrow friend is turned.”

_Iris. Of course. Don’t let them turn her._

Even I know my life isn’t worth it. Charlie nods solemnly and turns to the small mage at his side. “Amelia, darling, please use your fire spell.”

Charlie’s soft voice sends a chill down my spine. He’s talking to her like she is his daughter. Maybe she is? Maybe she really is a kid. I can’t imagine how her life led her to this. I am tempted to try pleading with her, to beg her not to listen and curse them instead, she has the power for it. But I know it is pointless. She doesn’t have a soul anymore. There is nothing left to plead with.

She lifts her arm and tilts her head. Red sparks fly out of her wand and hit the ground. A serpent of magic goes running around me. She keeps watching me, watching her work. Finally she nods and grins, a terrible, mocking grin. She skips over to Charlie and he pats her head. She’s pleased with herself.

Charlie looks at me again. “I'm sorry about your boyfriend…kid.”

He doesn’t call me vamp, a small courtesy you would only extend someone in death. A circle of red starts to glow around me. I already know what it is going to happen. I smell the smoke first. It must be the same fire spell they used at the flat.

I watch as the vampires lift Simon over their shoulders. It would be easy now. He looks so drained, like it has been more than four days since he’s eaten. He looks empty. Completely empty. They start to walk away with him, and I feel myself crack.

I promised.

I said I wouldn't let them use him. 

_No. no. no. no._

“Simon!” I scream his name in frustration. This is it. I am going to die watching Simon Snow’s body being dragged from me. I hear Penny and Fiona screaming on my left side. I can’t turn my head to look for them. I can only keep looking straight. Looking at Simon.

_I don’t know what to do._

The smoke is getting thick around me, and my eyes starts to burn. Any second now the sparks are going to take. I’ll be gone, and not even the ground will be scorched as proof that I was ever here.

“Simon _,_ ” I sob. I can’t help him. I couldn’t even do this for him.

I close my eyes and wait. I hear another scream. This time it isn’t Penny or Fiona.

“The fucker burned me.”

Someone howls into the night.

I snap my eyes open.

Simon is laying on the ground. The vampires are hissing at each other, Charlie is yelling. I see Fiona and Penny’s magic hit the air. I smell something green and earthy. A smell I spent eight years inhaling, eight years resenting, and hating, and loving. A smell as familiar to me as Simon's warm skin.

I inhale. I exhale. I am careful. So careful not to hope. “Simon?” I whisper through the smoke, through the sweat starting on my skin. He stays exactly where he is. Not moving. But something draws me in, forces me to look at his face.

Blue eyes.

Beautiful blue eyes. Always so alive, so full, so... _Simon_.

I make a sound, a terribly embarrassing sound as words get trapped in my throat. I don’t notice the vampires anymore. I don’t notice the sparks bursting around me, seconds away from engulfing me in flames. I don’t notice anything but blue eyes searching my face.

_“What’s your favourite colour?”_

_Blue._

_Always blue._


	22. Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this took me forever to write and I still sort of hate it. Or don't love it at least. I rewrote it about five different times and ended up deleting everything I had written for the chapter at one point.
> 
> Anyways, that is why this took so long to post! I just couldn't get it right...and I feel like it still isn't quite right, which is likely because I loved the last three chapters so much! But, I hope you all like it. I am dying to write some cute scenes with Simon and Baz...so expect that to appear shortly!
> 
> I've got a bunch of things to wrap up in the next chapter, and then I think it might be the end? (and by end I mean a really long epilogue because brevity is not a skill of mine). (Also, thinking of the end is depressing because this is basically two months of my life and I don't want it to end lol). 
> 
> Long story short, thank you to everyone reading and commenting. I am so happy to have found a bunch of you as obsessed as I am. You are all lovely and wonderful and absolute gems <3

**SIMON**

I can hear his voice. _Open your eyes, Simon. Look. Don’t be a coward._ Someone casts a spell. I feel the static charge in the air. I smell the burning smoke. _Fire_ _._ _Baz is flammable._

 _Open your eyes, Simon!_ Cold hands are touching me— I can feel my body leave the ground. Everything is rough. I can hear his voice again. It has to be.

My name.

His voice.

Fire.

Three things I am certain of. I think of Baz as a wave of heat bursts in my body. I feel like I am made of fire, like I can absorb the flames away from him.

" _The fucker burned me,"_ someone shouts. I hit the ground with a thud.

“ _Simon_?” He sounds so scared, so far away.

Maybe I am already dead and this is my afterlife— Baz whispering my name. There could be worse ways to spend eternity. _Okay, Simon. You can do this. There you go. Okay, good. Focus. Look._

I see him.

Grey eyes locked onto mine. I notice the sparks of red burning around him.

“ _Baz_?”

Merlin, it hurts to talk. My voice is scraped against my throat, but I make it work. His face twists with relief.

“Simon,” he whispers again. I start to crawl towards him.

**BAZ**

I can hear it, that familiar and erratic pattern of Simon Snow’s heart.

_Simon. Simon. Simon. Simon._

I’m never going to stop saying his name.

**PENNY**

We start running as soon as we hear Baz screaming Simon’s name. Fiona throws a line of fire into the trees, hoping to hold off any vampires still lurking. I wish I could say I was a badass who destroyed the others, but the truth is I hardly did anything. Fiona is wicked with fire, even better than Baz (not that I would ever tell him). She lit them up like it was her job, which I suppose it technically is.

We run as fast as we can. I see Charlie and a small girl with a wand clutched tightly at her chest. Fiona reaches them first. She doesn’t hesitate. A flame is released from her hand before she even stops running. The three vampires disappear into ash.

“Fiona?” Charlie’s voice catches.

She turns and glares at him, breathing heavily. She keeps looking at him until she softens in a way I didn’t think was possible for Fiona Pitch. Her face fills with recognition, with the unmistakable flutter of memories.

“Chuck?” She whispers.

“Charlie, now.” He corrects sheepishly. Fiona looks like she has seen a ghost.

The small girl is tight to Charlie’s side swaying back and forth, still clutching her wand. She would be adorable if I couldn’t smell her. Smell the sickening and overwhelming scent of death and Dark Magic.

Fiona glances to the kid and straightens, her face goes hard again. “Best let my nephew go, Chuck.”

Charlie shakes his head at her. “Fiona, I can't. They have Iris.”

 She doesn't back down. “And? You know I've always hated Iris.”

He laughs a little. “She hates you too.”

Fiona smirks. “Let him go, Chuck.”

He glances at the small girl at his side. “You have to help her.”

 Fiona watches his gaze. “Who? Iris or your kid?”

He shakes his head again. “She isn’t mine. But, Iris. Promise to help Iris and I’ll let him go.”

Fiona rolls her eyes and sighs irritably. “Fine.”

Charlie nods, satisfied. “Okay, Amelia, sweetheart. Let’s stop that fire spell now.”

 _Amelia_. I can see her in another life, sitting at a piano, her beautiful hair pulled back from her face with ribbons as she delicately runs her fingers over the keys to an impossible song. I can see a whole other life for a little girl named Amelia.

Instead, she looks up at him with her scabbed face and dirty hair and frowns. “Why?”

Charlie looks uncomfortable, he's done this before. “We don’t need it anymore, sweetie.”

The frown doesn't leave her lips. “Why?”

He sighs. “ _Because_ we don’t.”

Again Amelia responds, “Why?”

Merlin, it is exactly like trying to have a conversation with Priya.

Charlie gets flustered as Fiona crosses her arms. “She, uh, gets like this sometimes. She can be a little _difficult_.” He offers as an explanation.

Amelia purses her lips on the word difficult. “ _You_ told me to do it.” She stomps her foot into the ground.

“Amelia," Charlie snaps, "that’s enough. Stop the spell.”

“ _No_!” She shouts back at him. Her face twists and she presses her small hands into her hips. Her wand rests bulkily against her side.

“ _Fuck_.” I turn at the sound of Baz cursing. The sparks start to flare up around him as flames begin build. _Fuck._

I look back to Amelia. She has a disturbed grin plastered to her face watching the flames build. I notice her teeth are rotting. I smell her magic come off of her. She’s doing this. My head goes light and my stomach clenches. She smells repulsive.

“Amelia,” Charlie warns.

Fiona reaches for his throat. “Control her!” She screams at him.

“ _You_ told me to do it. Why did you tell me to if I wasn’t s’possed to? Why?” Amelia's voice turns to a shriek. I expect her to throw herself into the ground and start kicking her feet, she’s verging on a tantrum.

I turn to Baz again and he has a look of panic on his face. The flames keep pushing closer, the louder Amelia shouts the closer they get. I need to help him. I try casting **make a wish** , but nothing happens. The ground around him continues to burn. (Merlin, why didn’t they teach us how to undo dark spells at Watford!).

“Baz?” I yell over the roar of fire.

“Still here, Penny.” He shouts back.

“I don’t know how to counter Dark Magic,” I tell him hopelessly. I’m sure it isn’t what he wants to hear right now.

“Try _anything_!” I can hear the desperation in his voice. 

I take his advice and confidently shout, **“Make a dark wish!”** Sometimes, you can modify an existing spell just slightly to fit a new situation. It’s worth a shot.

The flames falter for a moment before bursting higher.

“Okay, maybe not _anything_ , Bunce,” Baz bites out.

“Right, sorry.”

Fiona is still screaming at Charlie in the background. I am racking my brain for any spell that might work.

“ _Simon, no_!” Baz shouts at someone. I don’t have time to be confused.

The world goes off.

T.S Elliot was an idiot.

The world always ends in a bang.

**SIMON**

No one notices me. Well, Baz does. He knows I am here. But no one else does. I watch Amelia, watch her stomp her feet further into the ground, clench her fists tighter, and scrunch her face harder. I know exactly what she's doing. I know before anyone else.

My muscles shake and I barely make it to my feet. But I stand. I stand as Amelia drops her wand. She doesn’t need it to go off. I would know. I take a step forward, and try to clear my mind.

There’s a quote, from some show about American football that is supposed to help you in moments of great importance. Moments where you can change everything. We learned it in sixth year. Of course, it never worked for me because I had never seen the show, and I was rubbish with quotes. But I feel like right now it would apply nicely. Clear hearts, full eyes? No, clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose?

Sod it.

I don’t need it.

I feel like I am watching myself go off. Seeing what everyone else used to when I would get too flustered. When the words would get stuck and I would start to smoke. She is me. I mean, she’s not. But she is in a way. I understand her more than anyone probably ever has.

She has too much. Too much power, too much darkness. She can’t come out of this, out of life, unscathed. I would know about that too.

I take another shaky step. Baz screams my name. Tells me to stop. He doesn’t understand. But Amelia’s blue eyes snap to my own.

She understands.

**BAZ**

She goes off, and I am surprised I even notice. I should be dead. The Dark Magic hits me, and the flames push against my skin but nothing happens. I smell smoke, green and earthy. I smell the distinctive scent of Simon’s magic.

**SIMON**

Amelia stomps her foot and inhales loudly. She is bursting, pouring everything inside of her out— it’s what happens when you have too much. Too much of anything and it’s bound to happen. Any vessel can only hold so much, can only have so much crammed into it before it cracks, before it starts to leak.

I think of Penny and Fiona safe. _Safe. Safe. Safe._ I repeat the word over and over, rolling it across my tongue until I’m sure it has worked. Until I feel like the word is physical, tangible, something for me to control. Until it is more than just a word.

Next, I think of Baz and the fire around him. I try to draw it to me. My skin starts to burn as Amelia’s lungs erupt into a fountain of screams. The magic around Baz gives way for a fleeting second. It is enough for me to think of his skin, unharmed and untouched, always breathtaking. _Nothing_ can touch him.

I keep drawing her magic to me. Every time a new wave pushes out I call it forward. I don’t know where the magic is going, but I don’t feel it. I watch red sparks and currents fly against my skin, and I feel nothing but emptiness and exhaustion as I drain everything I can from her.

For a horrifying moment I’m worried I am the Humdrum. Merlin, wouldn’t that be some fucking shit luck – causing him, defeating him, and then becoming him. I push the thought out and focus on Amelia and Baz. Saving Baz. Destroying Amelia’s magic. It's what I need to do.

I keep pulling. Every muscle inside of me contracts, my legs shake as I lean forward from the effort. I keep holding on though. I have to.

**BAZ**

It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Him, this moment. _Simon Snow._ He takes shaky steps forward, he straightens, and he lifts his head. He comes to life and keeps moving until he is standing between myself and Amelia.

I watch their magic compete. Simon’s magic is pouring out in green spirals, Amelia’s in red. Their magic twists together and Simon groans loudly. He starts to lean forward and the flames draw away from me, closer to him. They keep moving closer and I feel the earlier immobilizing spell being drawn out of my body.

He’s stealing her magic.

As soon as I can move again I sprint forward and draw my wand. “Simon, I can help,” I yell loudly to his back. I’m not sure if he can hear me over the sound of Amelia.

She’s still wailing, her magic relentless. It keeps bumping against me, unsettling my nerves, but just as quickly Simon’s magic burrows in and thrusts it out. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so disoriented.

I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed something so incredible.

“Baz?” I hear Penny shouting my name. She’s watching Simon, her eyes filled with tears. I notice none of Amelia’s magic is hitting her. The red haze of magic is still reaching where Penny is, but it misses every time. I look to Fiona. The same thing is happening. Both of them are safe. Amelia's magic pours around them, but it doesn't ever touch them. 

“Baz…he’s—" Penny pauses, unsure of how to articulate what's happening. I grin. “He’s Simon Snow,” I finish for her. _My terrible, terrible, miraculous boyfriend._

I take a careful step towards him. He shakes his head, like he knows I am approaching. _Get over it, Snow._ I’ll be damned if I sit here and do nothing. I step in behind him and lean in closer. I see Amelia’s red magic dissolving against his skin. He takes everything she throws and pours out more of his own. I can see him fading, see his body recoiling from Amelia’s magic. It is too much for him. It would be too much for anyone.

“Simon, let me help,” I whisper behind him.

 He shakes his head again.

“Don’t be a stubborn arse," I sneer, "I was top of our year, and you could only bloody blow things up— remember _?_ ”

I hear him laugh. Crowley, I missed that sound. I take his laughter as an invitation to help, only I’m not sure how this works exactly—it was always Simon pushing his magic into me. There must be a way I can do this. Part of me is afraid to touch him. It has been four excruciating days of wanting, needing to feel his skin under my hands. And now, in this moment, he still doesn’t seem real. He is bending the rules of our world and I am afraid if I touch him he will disappear again— that he will slip away from me like last time. But, I am more afraid if I don’t touch him he’ll do what he always does. He’ll save everyone but himself.

I take a deep breath and place my hand on his shoulder. I instantly pull it back again. _Fuck_. He’s burning.

Simon turns his head, so I can see his profile. His features twist with distress. “Don’t touch me,” he whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I give my best fake smile. “I’m fine,” I lie.

I take another deep breath and wrap both my arms around him and rest my chin on his shoulder. He feels different, so much thinner than before. I feel like I could wrap my arms around him twice. His skin is burning underneath mine, but I don’t let go.

“Okay, love. Let me help.”

This time he nods his head and leans back slightly into my arms. I accidentally brush against his rib and he whimpers. I move my one hand so it rests on his hip instead, I keep my other one snaked around his chest. I support him the best I can.

“You’re so alive,” I whisper into his ear. I reassure him. I reassure myself. I kiss his shoulder. He tastes like sweat and death. I don’t care. I would kiss every inch of him right now if we weren’t currently trying to deflect the magic of a manic, temperamental child.

I focus on my magic. I become aware of it, and I let him have it. _Take it,_ I think, _take whatever you need._ He does. I feel it being pulled from me, gently, his own magic carefully threading through me, like it knows I am letting it, like it knows it doesn’t have to fight.

I press another kiss behind his ear and his shoulders loosen. He grabs my hand and wraps his fingers with mine. It feels so good to have him here, to hold him. I breathe him in and the burning on my skin stops. His magic stops rebelling against me, it stops treating me like a threat, like something hostile.

“ _Simon_.” I press my lips into his hair. I say his name because I can.

He tightens his grip on my hand.

I feel our magic combine.

You’re not supposed to be able to do this.

But we do.

We can.

Because we’ve always been more. And so has our magic, and it's just that— _our_ magic.

**SIMON**

Baz has his arms securely around me. I take his magic. I pull it delicately from him, and I feel the freshness of it tingle through me. I stop burning. It feels so different from how mine used to be. I feel like I can control this.

I focus on Amelia, on making her magic disappear. I want it gone. Whatever is pouring out of me (Baz’s magic I suppose?) turns from green to blue. Each new flood comes out different. Sometimes green. Sometimes blue. Sometimes both.

I keep pulling, letting Amelia’s spells hit me. I take them all, and imagine pushing them into the ground below me. She starts to waver. She starts to look empty, as empty as I feel.

Finally, Amelia stops screaming, her mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out. Her eyes are swollen with tears. She looks to me, and seems surprised to have run out of steam, or magic, or whatever you call it. And she knows it is my fault.

“Give it back!” She cries.

“I can’t," I tell her. I really can’t. I don’t know how.

She steps closer, rage in her eyes. “Give it back, Simon Snow.”

I keep forgetting she is a kid, a kid who got an even shittier hand in life than I did.

“Amelia,” I rasp. “I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s gone.”

“No!” She shouts. I can feel the small leftovers of her magic boiling to the surface. Baz releases his arms from me to lift his wand. I feel ready to collapse. She must feel the same.

“Amelia, you’re tired. You’re almost empty.” I tell her honestly.

She glares and whines, “No, no, no, no.”

If she had anything left, she might go off again. She doesn’t though. She’s done.

“Amelia, it’s okay.”

“Simon,” Baz whispers fiercely, “I still have enough.”

I know what he means. He could end her. He should. But something is tugging on me, telling me that it isn’t the right choice.

“It isn’t her fault," I say to him.

“Yes, it is!” He shouts at me. I can hear the disbelief in his voice, disbelief that his boyfriend could be so utterly moronic.

“Baz, she’s a kid.” I try to reason with him.

He keeps giving me the same look of disbelief. “And a complete raving lunatic.”

 I shaky my head. “It isn’t her fault.”

He pulls at his hair in frustration. “Merlin, Simon. She tried to kill us — _twice_.”

I plead with him, I apologize without saying a word, and then I turn to Amelia. “Run,” I say gently, urgently.  

“Simon, _please._ Don’t let her go.” Baz's voice is desperate behind me.

But, I’m going to. He knows I am. He won’t understand. How could he? I would never expect him to.

Amelia looks at me with her tear stained blue eyes, and dirty face. She’s underdressed for winter. She doesn’t have someone to care enough to tell her to wear a coat. She could have been my little sister in another life. And I could have been her after that first time. What if the Mage never found me, and someone else, someone darker did. _I could have been her._

“She’s just like me, Baz. She goes off. There isn’t anyone to help her. She’s alone and scared and has more power than she knows what to do with.”

I pause and drop to my knees. “Simon?” Baz steps in front of me. I can't focus. I try to look at his eyes— his lovely grey eyes— but I can't seem to find them. I feel so tired.

“She’s empty," I say.

“Simon?”

“She’s just like me.”

I feel myself start to sway. I register Penny running for me on my left. My vision fades.

“Simon?”

Baz drops in front of me.

“Simon?”

“She’s empty.”

“What? Simon?”

“I’m empty,” I whisper

I fall backwards and hit the snow.


	23. Carry on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the beginning of the end! This chapter is a wrap up of sorts, so it isn't overly interesting, but it is necessary!
> 
> Thank you all for reading and commenting :)

**SIMON**

I wake up tucked into a hospital bed with a drip of fluid running into me. I open my eyes slowly. The room feels too bright, even though I can see the shades are drawn. My mouth feels dry and heavy. I survey my stained skin. I seem to be okay. Minimal pain. No broken bones. Even my injured shoulder appears to have healed. Everything feels stiff, but okay. I really must be fine. Which means I only passed out earlier. I start to blush. I feel a bit daft now after my declarations of being empty.

Above all else though, I feel disgusting. Merlin, I need a shower. I notice the bathroom attached to my room. Bingo. I can tell I'm certainly on something, my brain is a bit loopy, but this seems like a great idea. I roll off the mattress, my feet unsteadily hitting the cold floor, my torso still horizontal.

I slide backward and feel a tugging in my arm. I glance down. _Right_. There are lines running into me— they might pose a problem. I stand, shakily, and stare at the dripping fluid. My fogged brain is trying to work out how to disconnect everything when the door to my room opens. I snap my head up, feeling caught out, prepared for a scolding from a nurse, until I see Baz. He's holding a paper cup, and his whole face changes when he sees me awake. I feel my own face twisting into a smile.

“Simon!” He drops his cup, water splashing across the floor. “Crowley, I was only gone a second—” He pauses, then frowns, registering my standing form. "You bloody idiot,” he curses at me. Before I can insult him back he’s at my side trying to help me back into the small bed. I try to refuse through a series of grunts, because I really want to shower, but Baz is already tucking the blanket around me.

"I wanted to be here when you woke up," he whispers to me as he fixes the blanket.

“It al’righ, love,” I croak out.

My words come out slurred and thick. I am saying them fine in my head, but judging from Baz’s amused expression they don’t sound how they should. He settles himself into the space beside me on the bed. There really isn’t room for him, but he makes it work.

“Oi, that’s my line.” He grins and presses his face into my hair. I try to laugh, but it comes out wrong. Like I’ve forgotten how.

“I ‘issed you,” I tell him.

His eyes find mine, and he looks pained. “Simon, you have no idea what missing is.”

Baz pulls me against his chest and lets out a sigh. He runs his fingers along my jaw, across my nose, under my chin.

“What’re doin?” I have no idea if he can understand me.

He kisses the tip of my nose. “Morphine makes you cute, which I'm only admitting because you won't remember.” His voice comes out breathy. He’s being gentle, like I am delicate. Normally it would bother me. But right now—right now this is good. I sink against his chest. He keeps tracing the lines of my face. “I’m making sure you’re real. That you’re really here.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, and each cheek.

I close my eyes and he kisses my eye lids. His lips are soft and cool against my skin. He kisses my chin and pauses for a moment before slowly pressing his lips to mine. We’re barely touching. But I whimper, a sad and pathetic sound, because it has been so long and it feels so fucking nice.

He presses his lips more firmly against mine and combs at my hair with his fingers. His citrus-pine scent fills my lungs. I breathe it in hungrily. I run my tongue along his. He tastes like mint and coolness, with a slight metallic twinge.

I freeze, anxiety filling my brain— the fresh taste of his mouth, and the citrus clean scent that is his reminds me of my own disgusting state. The smell of death surrounds me. I must be repulsive. I push Baz away slightly, biting my lower lip.

“Simon?” His grey eyes find mine again.

“I’m…gross," I mumble. I feel ashamed. Especially because I am positive the word gross sounded more like “grease” when I said it.

“Simon, don’t," he whispers.

I keep looking away and feel tears rolling down my face. Merlin, this is embarrassing. Baz grabs my chin and forces me to look into his eyes.

“I thought you were dead,” he says angrily.

“Sorry," I mutter, trying to speak through the thickness clouding my brain and the sob caught in my throat.

“No, Simon. Why are you fucking apologizing? I’m saying, I thought you were _dead_. I thought I would never touch you again. So believe me when I tell you this, right now, I couldn’t bloody care less about how disgusting you are, because you’re here, and alive, and breathing, and that is _everything_ right now.”

I stare at him, because I don’t know what to say. I want to apologize again because his eyes are red, and he has dark shadows under them, and I know it is my fault. He presses his forehead to mine and softens his voice. “Simon, love, I thought you were dead. Please let me kiss you, okay?”

I don’t let him kiss me.

I kiss him.

I let myself have this moment.

**BAZ**

Simon is supposed to stay in the hospital for a full week. He was severely dehydrated and starved. Plus, Dr. Wellbelove wants to run tests. He has a theory that Simon’s new magic takes a lot out of him, as in literally drains him of sustenance. It makes sense. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in weeks, not days.

The Coven is in his room now. No doubt asking questions Simon can't answer. He’s been awake for a total of an hour and is completely high on painkillers, yet somehow they thought it was an appropriate time to talk to him.

I had wanted to stay with him, but I was thrown out for being hostile. In my defense, they should have let Simon take a shower. He begged them. I could see his embarrassed flushed even under the layers of dirt and grim on his skin. But, the Coven, specifically Angus Lottie, refused. They thought he might try to run. I nearly killed Angus when he said no.

“He just wants a bloody shower!” I had screamed at them. Several members shrunk against the walls. Even Simon flinched.

Angus remained unsmiling and detached. He sighed at me, like I was being unreasonable. I hadn't even begun to show him unreasonable “Basil, this won’t take long.”

I yelled louder. “Let him take a damn fucking shower—he's not going anywhere. I'll fucking sit there and watch him myself.”

Simon blushed harder. And Angus tried his best not to look shocked. “Basil, your father—“

And then I went too far.

“Fuck him, fuck all of you, I swear I will set you all on—”

Simon cut me off, and I was forcibly removed from the room.

I pace outside his door now with Penny. She's trying to eavesdrop with a banned listening spell (a ballsy move with the Coven).

I'm worried. The Coven already knows more than I feel comfortable with. They showed up last night when Fiona was helping Charlie rescue Iris. They found Penny and me in the middle of the Wavering Woods with a passed out Simon in our laps.

They had questions, and we kept playing dumb. When Fiona stumbled through the woods to us she was alone with Iris. Amelia and Charlie were gone, thankfully. The Coven would have smelled Amelia. They would have known what she was, and they likely would have assumed Simon was in on it. They already think he's addicted to Dark Magic. I have no idea if they know about Simon's magic. But, I have a feeling they only brought him to the hospital to try and confirm their theories. We all keep telling them he doesn't have it anymore.

I visited Iris yesterday; she’s just down the hall. I wish I could say I went to make sure she was okay. But I went because of Simon.

She started talking before I was fully in the room. “When the Coven comes to talk to me I’ll tell them exactly what I know.”

 “Which is?” I asked. She was probably in my head before I even entered the room.

“Nothing," she said casually. She looked at me, with her intense eyes, and I knew I could trust her. "I know nothing. Vampires for unknown reasons kidnapped me. I’ve never heard of Simon Snow. I don’t know why they would need him. I don’t know what Dark Magic is. I have no idea who you are. We’ve never met.”

I had nodded and left. It wouldn’t help Simon, but it wouldn’t hurt him either.

I feel like I need to protect him now. Like I am the only one who can. Which is why I hate standing outside this door while he’s in there answering questions. I need to keep him from slipping back to that dead eyed thousand—yard look.

“What are they saying?” I ask Penny.

“Shush, they just keep asking him the same questions. He keeps saying I don’t know.”

“What questions—”

“Shut up!”

I keep waiting. The minutes slip into hours.

\---

Wellbelove shows up.

I grimace and Penny nudges her elbow into my ribs. “Don’t be an arse." She whispers harshly. "She only wants to make sure he is okay.”

I roll my eyes, holding back the several well-phrased arguments I have for why she shouldn't have the privilege of knowing such information. Wellbelove looks at me and clears her throat. “I can help. My dad said he is going to make sure Simon isn’t charged. He says he can prove he wasn’t using Dark Magic from his blood.”

I nod.

We wait impatiently until finally, two hours later, the door opens. The Coven walks past us, like we don’t exist.  As soon as they are out of sight all three of us fight to get into the room first.

When we barge in Simon looks exhausted, but his entire face lights up as he looks to us.

“Okay, love?” I ask.

He smiles and nods.

**PENNY**

He doesn’t seem like Simon, until he smiles. I start to cry because it might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Even when he has basically been dragged to hell and back, even when he was all but dead, Simon Snow manages to be filled with more life than anyone I have ever met.

Agatha and I stay until after midnight. We all talk mindlessly to Simon. It’s nice. He mostly listens. Sometimes he falls asleep. Each time he wakes up he smiles at us all like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

Baz doesn’t let go of Simon’s hand. He also doesn’t make a scene when Agatha takes Simon’s other hand. I sit at Simon’s feet and prop them in my lap.

He has too much morphine in his system for us to tell him everything. We don’t tell him the vampires were going to use his magic to steal the magic of other mages.

I think he might already know about his magic returning. I don’t bring it up, but I don’t try to avoid the topic either.

Dr. Wellbelove has theories. He thinks Simon is actually more than just a mage. He thinks he belongs to the elements. It is different than the Pitches being fire magicians. I am momentarily jealous that the Bunces are only regular magicians. We show no traces of elemental magic of any kind. Then I feel like a crap friend for being jealous.

We know that Simon doesn’t need a wand for whatever is flowing through him now. He will need one for real spells, the ones the rest of us use, but he doesn’t need it for whatever he does (it isn’t really going off anymore). He doesn’t need to speak aloud for his magic to work either (which he could technically do before). (Merlin, he better not give himself wings again.)

Dr. Wellbelove believes his magic will be dormant most of the time. When he needs it most it will appear. It doesn’t make perfect sense. But it does make sense for Simon. He’s always been something more.

Before we leave Agatha pauses by the door.

“Simon?” She says softly.

He looks over to her, his head already resting on Baz’s chest.

“Promise me something?”

He nods and waits for her to continue. “Get out of here. Baz, Penny, make sure he does. Go with him. All of you— come to California if you want. Run, for once in your bloody life _run_. There are more creatures waiting for you. You’re an easy target here. Promise me you’ll leave. It doesn’t have to be right away, but promise you will. This—it isn’t your fight. It’s not for you. Just leave and live, Simon. For once, think about living. Give yourself a tomorrow, and a next year, and a ten years. Give yourself time, okay?”

“I’ll try, Aggie,” Simon whispers. His voice comes out tired and raw.

She gives him a sad smile. “Keep in touch, yeah?”

“Of course.”

He smiles and shuts his eyes. Baz kisses his forehead and pulls him closer.

I don’t think Agatha has ever made more sense.

 _Time_.

No one deserves it more than Simon.

**BAZ**

I wait until Simon wakes up and then I take him home. Dr. Wellbelove tried to argue with me, until I promised he could run any tests at the flat. Simon can’t stay at the hospital. The Coven will be back, and they will demand to know what he has running through him. Once they know, once they understand that he is something more than any of us ever thought, he won't be safe.

I can work to keep him safe at the flat. At home. Where he should be.

Penny is already there when I open the door. She runs to Simon and wraps him carefully in a hug.

“Great snakes, I missed it here, Pen,” Simon says.

She grins. “How's the pain? You don’t sound high anymore.”

His face grimaces for half a second before he tries to make his voice light. “Unfortunately, no more drugs for me. But no pain either.”

Penny rolls her eyes. “Don’t ever play poker, Si. You’re a rubbish liar.”

He grins and stands in the middle of the flat, like he isn’t sure what he should do now.

“Do you want to sleep, love?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “No, shower. I really want to shower.” 

Penny grins wickedly. “Thank Merlin _and_ Morgana, you’re disgusting.”

Simon laughs and then winces. I walk over to him and wrap an arm around him.

“Let’s go shower,” I whisper to him.

Penny makes a gagging sound. “Gross. I’m going to go and get us dinner. Wait until I'm actually out of the flat before you start—“she gives us a look and walks away.

Simon lets me lead him to the bathroom. I turn on the water and wait for it to warm. He stands against the wall and looks at his feet. Something is wrong.

“Simon?” I say gently.

When he looks up at me he has tears in his eyes.

"What is it?”

His cheeks flare red. “I can do this myself, you know.”

He’s embarrassed.

“I want to help,” I state carefully.

“You're not my nurse,” he growls.

I chew on the inside of my mouth, trying to think of what I would want someone to say if our roles were reversed.

"Okay,” I say cheekily, “I don't want to help. I want to shower with my boyfriend in all his naked splendor.”

I am hoping he will laugh, and when he doesn't my heart drops.

His voice comes out shaky, "You’ll look at me differently.”

I shake my head. “I won’t.”

I step closer and make an effort to help him out of his shirt.

“No,” Simon says firmly. “I can do this part. Don’t look.”

I am about to argue that I’ve seen him naked before, but he looks hurt and vulnerable. I understand not wanting to be vulnerable. I turn around and undress quickly. I wait for his instructions.

“Okay. You go in first, and don’t look.”

I step to the back of the shower to make sure Simon will actually get the stream of water. He steps in carefully. I keep my eyes down and watch the water turn into a rusted brown colour. He starts crying. The sound rips me to pieces.

“Sorry," he sobs. He doesn't need to be sorry.

“Simon. Talk to me.”

He sobs again. “I’m disgusting, Baz.”

I frown. He's not. He never will be.

“It's only dirt, love, it will come off,” I say gently.

“No, it isn’t the dirt. _Look at me_!” He shouts.

I look up and his blue eyes are burning into my face. I keep my eyes on his.

“Look at me, Baz," he says again, quieter.

“I am.”

He shakes his head. “No, you’re not. See, even you won’t do it.”

I keep looking into his eyes. His skin is streaked with dirt and tears and water. His hair is wet and his cheeks are sunken. I know what the rest of him will look like. His voice is cold again, it isn't his usual liquid sunshine voice.

Simon sighs. “Look at me and tell me you can still be attracted to me. They took _everything_ from me. I’m pathetic, and weak, and disgusting now.” 

I let myself look and inhale sharply. He’s drained. It breaks my heart and he knows it, it is written all over my face.

He cries harder. “ _See_!”

“Simon," I say softly. "You’re still you. You’re beautiful, you’ll always be beautiful.”

He inhales and another sob gets stuck in his throat. His shoulders shudder as he lets it out. “Not like you, Baz.”

He takes his hand and runs it down my arm. (I ignore the heat building in my stomach _. Not the time to get aroused.)_ “You’re bloody perfect. Not a single mark on you.” He whispers as he runs his hand longingly down my chest.

His own body is a collection of raised skin and rough patches. He cries harder, and I don't know what to do. I reach out slowly to him, and when he doesn't back away I pull him closer and hold him against my chest.

“ _Simon,"_ I whisper into his hair, "I love you. I don't care about scars. You're the bravest person I know. You're the furthest thing from weak and pathetic.”

I feel his shoulders relax and he sinks against me. I grab for my soap and start rubbing small circles into his lower back, across his scars. I gently wash him all over, and he lets me. He goes quiet, and I steal glances at him as I work, hoping beyond anything that I am not losing him.

As I rinse out his hair he whispers to me, “What if you don’t like me anymore. What if I can’t make you…you know?”

He’s being serious. I try not to laugh. “Simon, are you seriously worried I won’t get an erection.”

“Yes,” he sobs into me.

“You’re an idiot.”

He looks up at me and glares. I kiss his nose.

“Baz—”

“Simon, you’re an idiot. Focus for a second and tell me if you're still worried.”

He frowns at me. “What are you even— _oh_?”

His skin flushes as he realizes how close I am to him. How all of me —and I mean _all_ of me — is pressed against him. I am hard, which is pretty much an involuntarily reaction to being around Simon naked. I can't help it. Even when he's sobbing and clearly not in a good place, I can't stop myself from wanting to shag him senseless. (I wouldn't, obviously.) His skin flushes more.

I let out a gentle laugh. “Crowley, I missed making you blush.” I kiss his nose again and both his cheeks where they have started to turn red.

“Still worried?” I ask.

“Less so,” he grins.

“Good.” 

We stay in the water until it turns cold. I let him use one of my fluffy towels. I use a warming spell on it before I help him rub his body and hair dry. When I catch him glaring at his reflection in the mirror I lean towards him and turn his face to mine. “You, Simon Snow, are the most exquisite person I have ever seen, now and always.”

He blushes again and gives me a small smile. "Did you seriously just use the word _exquisite_?”

I shrug. I’ll tell him a thousand times a day, every day, using a million ridiculous adjectives if I have to.

I give him my favourite jumper and put extra blankets on the bed. I curl up beside him and he takes my hand. He places small kisses into my fingers until we both fall asleep.

**SIMON**

For the first few days Baz doesn’t let me out of his sight. He doesn’t let the Coven talk to me alone either, which I am beyond thankful for, because when they do talk to me they ask a lot of questions I can’t answer.

When I get stuck and can’t answer a question Baz jumps in and reams them out for being pushy and disrespectful, or reminds them that I already answered the question. He calls them morons…constantly.

Baz told me to never speak of using his magic. “They can’t know. They’ll use you.” He’s always worried about that, people using me.

I learn a lot, but not enough. Apparently I have magic. And of course it is just as useless and unpredictable as ever, possibly even more so. I remember taking Amelia’s magic. I remember using Baz’s magic. I remember being underground for almost four days and somehow not running out of air. I remember thinking the word ‘safe’ and turning it into something real.

I don’t tell the Coven any of this.

Dr. Wellbelove says I am elemental. Penny and Baz are both reading everything they can about element magicians now. They think I am some rare treasure. I don’t like to think about it, or talk about it. This isn’t what I imagined when I used to think about getting my magic back. I thought it would come back normal, and I would finally be like everyone else. Instead, I am still scared, still worried that I'll create more holes. I'm not ready, so I don’t think about it.

I think for now I am going to be me, Simon Snow—just a person, with a best friend, and a boyfriend, who mean more to me than words can express, and life in London, trying to carry on.


	24. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit different. It is very dialogue heavy and moves through the course of a year. I was originally going to make this the Epilogue, but I decided to expand the last month into a separate chapter for the Epilogue.
> 
> Warning, some sexual content throughout.

**JANUARY**

**BAZ**

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

Simon bites his lip. “Oh—do you not want to?”

I shake my head. “I do. Of course I do. But you’re still—”

“Weak? Pathetic?”

“No. Simon, no. Don’t. I just don’t want you to do this and regret it.”

“Baz. I want to do this. I would _never_ regret anything with you.”

I wrap his fingers in mine and press a kiss to his wrist. He’s still too skinny. He hates it. I catch him glaring at the protrusion of a bone.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell him.

He flushes under me. “You’re a filthy liar.”

I smirk. “So filthy,” I whisper as I drop my head to his neck.

He breathes deeply. The sound is intoxicating—his breathing is proof of his life,  and the deepening of it is proof that he wants this, wants me—he’s intoxicating.

“So, so, so filthy.” I press a kiss to his skin.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers.

I don’t. I keep kissing him. Kissing him everywhere. Every inch of skin I can find. I revel in the warmth of his skin, the golden hue, the red flushes that keep spreading as my lips trace their way across his body.

He’s mine. This moment is ours. He closes his eyes.

“Still with me?”

He drifts away sometimes.

“Sort of.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You.”

“ _Me_?”

“Yeah, always you, Baz.”

I trail my fingers across his jaw, my heart hammering hard against my chest. He really is so beautiful.

\----

It hurt him. I know it did. Even though we were careful and slow. I knew it would. I hated that part.

But— _Crowley_.

My skin is still on fire.

My legs shaking.

My chest heaving.

 _Crowley_.

I love him.

“Next time will be better,” he whispers.

“Next time?”

I want a million next times. I wasn’t going to push it though.

“Yeah, well if the internet is to be believed.”

I laugh.

“You googled _this_?”

It's oddly charming. I like picturing him sat on his bed, laptop propped up, lip anxiously tugged between his teeth as he researches what I've been reading about since fifteen.

“Of course.” He answers, like it would be obvious, and I love how he says it, love how his voice is the slightest bit hoarse. Love _him_ , period. 

I kiss him slowly, he tangles his legs through mine, and I feel another swooping of heat in my belly as he brushes his thumb against my cheek. 

“Did you like it?” He asks seriously. “Was it… was I… was it okay?”

“I didn’t like hurting you,” I say honestly.

“It wasn’t so bad.”

“Now who is the filthy liar?”

He laughs, a genuine laugh that has me gravitating toward the sound. “It was worth it,” he whispers into my hair. 

We fall asleep with the lights on. Happy and exhausted. Neither of us does well in the dark anymore.

 

**FEBRUARY**

**BAZ**

“How do you feel?”

“ _Stop_ asking me that.”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“Maybe I’m just thinking.”

I chew on the inside of my mouth.

Simon sighs loudly. “See. _This_ is the problem.”

“What?”

“Where is your bite? Where is the snarky retort of ‘thinking? That must be new’? Where are _you_?”

“I thought I lost you.”

“Yeah, well now I’m worried I am losing you.”

 

**MARCH**

**SIMON**

“Baz?”

He doesn’t respond. He sinks lower into the couch.

“Baz, love. Come on. We need to get ready.”

“I can’t go.”

“You have to, she’s your aunt.”

“I’ll kill him if I see him again, Simon. I swear. I will.”

“You need to let this go.”

“ _What,_ ” he spits at me.

“Your anger.”

“I can’t.”

“She’s your aunt.”

“How could she marry _him_?”

“She loves him.”

“He hurt _you_.”

“Come on, love. I’ll be fine.”

“I think we should leave London.”

“Why?”

“Fiona’s flat is too close. He’ll be too close to you.”

“Okay, we’ll leave.”

“Where should we go?”

“I’ve heard Transylvania is great for your kind,” I say seriously.

Baz looks up at me from the couch. His shirt is untucked from his trousers. He’s only half dressed and we were supposed to leave twenty minutes ago. He bursts out laughing. I straddle his hips and stroke the side of his face, trying to catch the sound of his laughter in my mouth. He keeps laughing, more than he has in months.

“There you are.” I smile at him and nuzzle his neck. He releases the tension in his jaw.

“Here I am,” he whispers against me, already undoing my tie, my hands already slipping off his shirt.

We’re late for Fiona’s wedding.

 

**APRIL**

**BAZ**

“Baz?”

“Simon?”

“You’re awake?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“Want to go for a drive?”

He rolls down his window. It is freezing, but I don’t say anything. Sometimes the only time he sleeps is curled up in the leather seat beside me, the windows down, an endless road ahead of us, and his warm hand wrapped in mine.

I would do anything to help him sleep.

 

**MAY**

**BAZ**

“You need to stop.”

“Don’t ask me to, please.”

“Baz. You need to let it go.”

“They hurt you, Simon. I can’t let that go.”

“I’m fine now.”

“Now. Now isn’t enough. They know, they know what you can do and they’ll come after you again. They’ll never stop using you.”

“Baz, this isn’t helping. What you’re doing…it isn’t helping. If you kill them, there will be ten more ready to take their place. It is an impossible way to live. It isn’t even living.”

He’s right. Crowley, do I know he is right.

“Please stop.” His whisper is interrupted with a cry. I am hurting him. I know I am.

“Please, Simon. You know I can’t.”

“I miss you.”

“I’m still here.”

“No, you’re not.”

He’s right, again. I am stuck in the past. My anger fills me so completely sometimes that I don’t have room for anything else.

I hunt them down. One by one. It is dangerous and reckless. And I know Simon hates it. I come home covered in blood, magic dripping off me, bone tired. We’ve had the same conversation for months. I am almost done. I can’t stop now. Not even for him.

I stopped telling myself I was doing this for him a long time ago.

 

**JUNE**

**BAZ**

“How are you okay with this?”

“Baz, it isn’t a big deal.”

“ _Simon,_ it is.”

He shrugs. “They were idiots. I can’t get angry every time someone isn’t okay with us. I can’t hold onto that much hate. You know, my therapist says—” He stops and bites his lower lip. He knows how I feel about therapy. His eyes go watery as he takes in my expression and suddenly it is too much.

I hold my breath. I don’t want to say it. But it has been hanging on my lips for months.

“She says I’m holding you back.”

He shakes his head. “No, Baz. I wasn’t going to say that. You’re holding me together.”

“Same thing.”

“How?”

“I’m holding you together with the past. You don’t need that. You can’t move forward like this.”

He gives me a pointed look, his eyes flashing angrily. “You’re talking nonsense again.” He says, words clipped, harsh against the softness of his mouth. 

“You know I'm not. You know it's the truth.”

“Baz, don’t do this.”

“What if—”

“No.”

“But—”

“ _No_. I was only going to say my therapist says she will talk to you, if you want. I think maybe you should consider it.”

I narrow my eyes. Stare him down blindly until he shifts uncomfortably before me. 

It's not a terrible idea. I should. I know I should.

But, something about him suggesting it pisses me off.

I don't know why.

I don't know why I'm like this.

( _Therapy would help_ , says the rational voice in my head. The one I can't seem to listen to anymore.)

Simon steps forward to wrap his arms around me. Somehow, he's consoling me, again. He's always consoling. He pulls me into a hug and presses his face into my neck. “Sorry. I won’t mention it again. I love you.” He whispers, before kissing me softly, his hands brushing at my hair.

He’s so much better at this than I am.

He's stronger now, almost filled back out. He seems lighter though, happier. He is trying to be okay and I don’t know how he does it. He is the strongest person I know and he keeps trying, and I keep bringing him down. Bringing him back to December.

I can’t.

I keep trying.

But, I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’m not good enough.

I start to shake. Not for the first time I wonder how he can be forgiving. After everything, how can he forgive anyone?

I _do_ need therapy, that much is clear. 

I take a deep breath, I inhale his scent one last time, and I tell the biggest lie of my life.

“I need space.”

I’ve never regretted three words more. They aren’t true. I need him. But, he doesn’t need me. Not right now.

“Baz?”

He pulls away and looks up at me. His blue eyes breaking.

_Fuck, I am so sorry. Please forgive me._

I turn around and walk away _._ I can’t say more. What more is there to say? I’ve already destroyed everything.

I ignore him screaming my name.

“You fucking bastard, don’t you fucking dare. No. Fuck. No. Baz. I swear I will fucking–fuck. No. Please. No. I can’t. No. I can’t. _Baz_ —“

I ignore the shoe that comes hurling for my head.

I walk away and I close the door behind me.

_I can’t hurt you anymore, Simon._

**JULY**

“You’re dead.”

“Bunce?”

“Who else? Pitch, I warned you. I told you if you hurt him I would kill you. Be prepared, I’m coming to kick your posh arse.”

“Penny, we took a pause a month ago. You can’t just be deciding to kill me now.”

“A pause? Seriously, that’s what you’re fucking calling it?”

“What else would I?”

“Betrayal. Infidelity. Being a bastard.”

“What are you—”

“He knows.”

“Knows what?”

“About you and some guy named _—fuck_. I forget his name. Simon works with him you complete moron. He works with your…whatever. He works with him. He knows.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck. You fucked up.”

“How is he…is he okay?”

“ _Seriously_ , what do you think?”

“ _Shit_.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“We aren’t together. I didn’t mean to. We didn’t even…I’m so sorry.”

“Pitch, the guy was bragging. Bragging how he brought you home. Simon had to stand there and pretend it meant nothing to him.”

“ _Shit_.”

“Yes, shit. He almost punched him. He was simmering. He was on the edge. He can control it better now, but you know how he is when something really upsets him.”

“Yeah. I do.”

“It could have ended terribly for him.”

I feel my voice straining, my eyes hot with tears. On top of everything it feels so good to hear Bunce's voice. To be able to admit this to someone: "I miss him, so much. You have to understand... I-I just really fucking miss him." 

She sighs loudly and is silent for a few minutes. I know she is thinking. Trying to decide if she should kill me or help me.

“All right you complete tosser, he’s home. I’m leaving. The key is the same.”

“Okay?”

“Don’t be daft. Come over and _fight_ for him, like you should have done weeks ago. Simon _needs_ you. Be here for him. Like you promised, you arsehole.”

“I hurt him.”

“Yeah, well… you were technically broken up.”

“It doesn’t matter. Before that. I was hurting him.”

“Baz, Simon’s better than you. He’ll forgive you.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

She hangs up on me.

 

**SIMON**

“I know you’re pissed at me.”

“Pissed is an understatement.”

“I know you—”

“No. You don’t know everything, Baz. Don’t try to tell me how I’m feeling.”

“Simon, you must understand on some level why we broke up.”

Baz keeps his voice calm and reasonable— it pisses me off more. He can’t just come into my bloody flat and act like nothing happened, like he didn’t leave, like he didn’t break my heart.

“No, I don’t understand on _any_ level. You ended it. You said you needed space. How else should I have interpreted that? Should I thank you? Should I bow and kiss the feet of mighty Baz Pitch.”

He flinches. _Good_. I am entitled to anger.

“But _you_ didn’t argue.”

I falter. _Don’t sound like that. Don’t sound so small._ I have to take a step back from him to keep from reaching out.

“Is that what this is about? Because I let you walk out?” I soften my voice just enough for him to notice.

He looks at me, for the first time since he got here. His hair is too long. I frown and he lowers his gaze again.

“You weren’t supposed to let me get away with it. You’re supposed to call me on my shit, Simon.”

“I tried. You wouldn’t listen. You had stopped listening.”

“I know. I’m… I… fuck. I know.”

I don’t mean to start crying. I certainly don’t want to. He looks back up to me and his face crumples.

“No, Si, fuck. I’m—”

“It hurt, Baz. What you did— that fucking hurt.”

“I know, love.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Simon, how did this happen? How did we get here? I miss you.”

I snort. “What do you mean _how_? You said you wanted space. I thought if I gave you what you wanted you would go to therapy, or talk to someone, talk to me. I just wanted you to stop looking for them, to stop putting yourself in danger, I thought you would finally listen. I never thought… I didn’t think you would—”

I cry harder. It takes me a few seconds to realize Baz is crying now too. He’s quieter than me, but his face is twisted, and his eyes are wet. I hate looking at him like this. Not being able to reach out and comfort him. Watching him cry is like letting a piece of myself die.

 “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…it meant nothing. I was drunk, and alone, and Crowley, Simon. I hate myself.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me feel bad for you. It isn’t fair.”

“ _Please_.”

“No.”

“I love you.”

“I… I can’t look at you without seeing him.”

“No. Please. It was nothing. We weren’t together. It was… _please_.”

He sounds broken, but he is still so lovely. He is still Baz.

“What did you do?”

“What?”

“With him.”

“Simon, love. You don’t want to hear this.”

“Maybe. Probably. But you need to tell me.”

“Nothing. It was nothing.”

“Did you fuck him?” I hiss it at him.

He cringes. But I need to know. The thought makes me feel sick. Picturing Baz touching someone else, his delicate fingers working their way into someone else’s skin. No. I need to stop. I sigh. I need to hear him out.

“No. I swear. It was nothing.”

“And _what_ exactly is nothing.”

Baz exhales heavily. “Simon… it will just hurt you.”

“Too late.” I make the words spiteful. He flinches again.

“We kissed. I met him at a bar, and he came home with me.”

“Did you—”

“No, I swear. I promise. Simon, we only kissed. He tried to… you know. But I couldn’t. I was… _I am_ so ashamed. I thought of you the whole time.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

We don’t say anything for a few moments. I keep looking at him, hoping that my hurt and anger will push out how deeply I still love him. I can’t go through this again. The pain. I don’t want to, but _fuck._ I love him, so much. I will always be madly in love with him.

“Why did you do it?” I ask quietly.

“Simon, I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“I need to understand, try to make me understand, Baz.”

“I don’t want it to come out as an excuse.”

“I’m asking you. Please, just tell me why.”

He runs his hands through his hair. He looks tired. He glances at me and I nod. I take a step closer. He nods back.  “All right. The day it happened I saw you. I had been careful to avoid you. But you were coming out of the café near Fiona’s and you were with that bloke, the one you met at your group therapy.”

“Baz, he’s just a friend.”

“I know. Even then, I knew that. But, I was being irrational, and I was miserable. I know I walked away, and that everything was my fault. But, I saw you and you looked happy, and it killed me that it wasn’t me. I went dark, Simon. I made assumptions, terrible assumptions. You needed your therapy, you needed him, this guy, he was helping you and I wasn’t. And fuck—knowing how useless I am hurt more than everything else. So, I got drunk. Like properly pissed. And then it just happened. I was angry and thinking of you. I didn’t know it was someone you work with. I didn’t want you to ever know. I was still holding out hope you would let me come back to you.”

“I couldn’t do what you did.”

“I know. You’re better than me.”

“No. Just different. We grieve differently I think.”

“I’m still a tosser.”

I smile.

“A complete wanker, really.”

“An utter moron.”

“An absolute fucking dick.”

“I was so wrong, Simon. About everything.”

“Say it again.”

He gives me a confused look.

“Come on, tell me how wrong you were. How stupid Baz Pitch can be.”

He laughs.

“Only for you, love. I am the stupidest person who has ever lived, and I was so wrong.”

“ _Oi_.”

“What?”

“You called yourself a person.”

“I guess I did.”

Baz crosses the room to me. I feel my breath catch roughly in my throat as he reaches a careful hand to my face. I already know I am going to forgive him. My skin comes alive under his touch. A month. It was only a month. But it was the worst month of my life.

" _Baz,"_ I lower my voice. “You can’t leave like that ever again.”

“Never.”

“Promise. Not even when it gets tough. And especially when you think you’re doing it for me. I’ll be the judge of what is good for me, okay?”

“Simon, I’m here. This is it for me. I won’t run again. I won’t push you away.”

“You can’t hurt me again, Baz. You weren’t supposed to.”

“Simon, I’ll never stop hating myself for this.”

I shake my head. “Baz, I want you to stop hating yourself. That’s all I want. Try for me, okay?”

He gives me a small smile. “Anything for you, love.”

**BAZ**

Simon reaches his mouth to mine. He tastes like cinnamon, like home. His face goes wet under my hands. I don’t know if the tears are his or mine.

“I missed you.”

“I love you.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I don’t stop whispering his name against his skin. He pulls me to the bedroom, and I don’t stop. He unbuttons my shirt, and I don’t stop. He presses me into the mattress and parts my legs with his knee, and I don’t stop. He’s so warm. I forgot just how warm, the specific way his skin feels against mine, how glorious it is, how addicting.

He starts gentle, his movements careful and controlled. It doesn't last. I feel his anger releasing from him as he bites down hard on the back of my neck.

I whimper.

He pauses and pulls back.

“Did I hurt you?” He sounds worried.

“No, love. It’s okay. Don’t stop.”

Simon kisses me gently on the skin he just broke.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

I nod.

“I missed you.”

He bites my shoulder next.

“I love you.”

My hip.

“I’m so sorry.”

The inside of my thigh.

_I missed you. I love you. I'm so sorry._

Three phrases. We repeat them over and over again.

**AUGUST**

**SIMON**

“It is too bloody hot.”

I am sweating— _everywhere_. Even Baz is sweating. It has been three days of excruciating heat. Baz licks a bead of sweat between my shoulder blades.

“Stop it, I’m gross,” I whine and try to push him away.

“I like you sweaty,” He whispers against my skin and licks down my spine. I shiver despite the heat.

“What are you doing?”

He slips his hands around me and down my stomach.

“Shhh.”

“ _Don’t_ shush me.”

He laughs and releases me, getting off the bed and walking to the door.

I feel my muscles tense, lean forward so I can watch him pad toward the kitchen.

“Wait," I call. "Where are you going?”

It comes out a little more panicked than I mean it to. I am still trying to move past the last time he walked away.

He must know because he takes a few steps back to me and kisses me softly.

“I’ll be back, love.”

He does come back, a tray of ice in hand. I raise an eyebrow.

“Baz?”

He grins and lets his eyes fall on my body appreciatively.

_Oh._

I grin back at him. “You're bloody brilliant.”

I slip off my shorts and he grins again.

 

**SEPTEMBER**

**BAZ**

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

“Why would I?”

“It’s crowded. People might stare. But, don’t let go.”

I roll my eyes at him.

“Simon, we’ve held hands in public before. I know how this goes. Besides, I’ll just set anyone on fire who stares too long.”

Simon lets out a horrified sound.

“ _Relax,_ it was a joke. Don’t give me that look!”

He frowns, a kissable crease appearing between his eyes. “It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.”

I pull Simon's hand up so I can kiss his wrist. He looks happy today. I think it might be the sea air. He tell me constantly how much he loves it. I don't tell him how much I love when he comes home with windswept hair, smelling like salt water, his cheeks red from either the cold or the sun. We did leave London, only to Brighton for now, but it is far enough for a fresh start. (Penny moved with us, and Micah moved here for her. She couldn't leave Simon and he understood. He's a pretty decent bloke.)

I look at Simon and feel a tugging at my heart.

“You look lovely today,” I tell him. His hair is especially stunning, even more like the sun than usual. Happiness suits him.

He blushes and dips his head.

“I can’t believe I’m going to school for this,” he whispers.

“I can.”

“Yeah?”

He looks at me with his blue, blue eyes. He never sees himself the way I do. If only for a single moment he could, he would never doubt himself again.

“Yeah,” I drawl casually. “Apparently my boyfriend is brilliant.”

He laughs.

“You forgot breathtakingly handsome.”

I grin and kiss his forehead.

“Always fishing for compliments.”

“Well, don't be so stingy with them."

I roll my eyes. "I just called you brilliant, you need to be handsome too?"

He nods, an impish grin on his lips.

"Fine." I say. It's not like it's hard for me to admit. "You're decent to look at."

He laughs, but then he goes quiet again, another blush on his face as he lowers his voice. "Seriously, thank you. Today is important for me.”

“Simon, love. This is all you.”

“But, you’ve been so supportive. You helped with the application, with the interview, and you never once made me feel like I couldn’t do it.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Make me feel like a good guy. They picked you because you’re talented, not because I proof read an essay.”

“Well still, thank you.”

Simon leans over and quickly kisses me. He’s about to pull away when he pauses and drops his head to my ear.

“I’m so in love with you.”

The tugging in my chest gets stronger.

It is the exact moment I decide I am going to ask Simon Snow to marry me.

 

**OCTOBER**

“I’m too stupid. This is too hard.”

“Simon—”

“No. I am. I’m not like you or Penny. Words, they hurt to think about sometimes. I can’t make this work.”

“Love, you can do this.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Baz, I’m not anything special!”

“Simon—”

“Help me.”

He starts to cry and my heart feels like it is being torn from my chest. His professor asked them to write about death. He got two sentences in before he broke down. He’s still healing; death is still too raw, too painful for someone like Simon.

I take his laptop and set it on the floor so I can wrap my arms around him. I let him cry. I will always let him cry. When he finally quiets against me I whisper into his hair.

“Simon Snow.”

“What?”

“That is all you have to write on the page for it to be a great story.”

He laughs and presses his lips to mine. “Fuck, you’re so cheesy.”

“Good thing you love cheese,” I say against his mouth.

“Stop!”

He falls backwards against the couch and howls with laughter. I grin stupidly. I love making him laugh.

\--

In the end he does write a story. He writes his story.

I tell everyone we meet.

“My boyfriend is a novelist.”

“Baz! Stop telling people that! No one asked, and it isn’t even true. It isn’t finished or published or anything.”

I lean over and kiss him each time before I whisper, “Not yet.”

 

**NOVEMBER**

I go home without Simon for dinner for the first time since we started dating. Penny is taking Simon to her parent’s house for the night so he doesn’t ask questions. I make sure the entire family is here, even Fiona. I told her she could bring Charlie if she wanted. (She doesn’t, which is good. It wasn't exactly a sincere offer.)

I drag them all to the Catacombs at Watford. It feels weird to be back, but I need to do this here, with mother.

\---

“You’re too young, Basil.”

“Father, I wasn’t asking for approval. I was telling you.”

“Malcolm, I think it is lovely,” Daphne says softly.

“Maybe marriage is making me soft, but Malcolm, it _is_ lovely. Besides, he almost dies at least twice every year. It wouldn’t be prudent of Basil to wait.”

“ _Aunt Fiona,_ ” I laugh. She winks at me.

Father sighs. “Basil, do you have a plan?”

I tell them what Penny and I have been working on.

“Fiona, are you crying?”

“What? No. That would be ridiculous. Your mum would love this, she would be so proud.”

“I'll _finally_ have an interesting brother. I’ve always liked Simon better than you.”

I laugh.

“Me too, Mordelia.”

 


	25. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT.
> 
> I won't lie. This is hard to post. I don't want it to end. I hope you all have enjoyed this story, and I hope the ending is satisfying. I put these two characters through hell, so this is my way of making it up to them. 
> 
> One final thank you to everyone reading and commenting. It has been a lovely experience and you have all been so encouraging and enthusiastic about my work. It means so much to me <3
> 
> Carry on!

**DECEMBER**

**BAZ**

I am nervous when I stop the car. My hands shake as I open my door and walk around to Simon’s side. “Okay," I state. It is a single word. It isn't helpful. I feel like Simon. I want to say more. But one word is all I can get out. My voice is uneven.

“Are we here?” Simon asks. I nod my head, “Yes.”

He looks around suspiciously. I’ll admit- it does seem a little underwhelming. We are in the middle of an empty field; there isn’t even a fence in our immediate view. His eyebrows crease together. “Wait, you took me to the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, for our anniversary.” I laugh, but it comes out strange, strangled almost. Merlin, I am nervous.

He gives me an apprehensive glance. “Please don’t tell me this is the part where I find out you’re a serial murderer who lures handsome men into the woods.” I laugh too loudly again and try to recover by clearing my throat. It only makes everything worse. “No. Nothing like that," I finally manage to say.

He grins. “So, is this where you take all your conquests then? Where you turn on the Baz Pitch charm. ‘Look at this lovely field my family has owned for generations’.” He tries to do a posh accent, the one he saves for when he is impersonating me. Penny loves it, especially when she is pissed. I roll my eyes. “Merlin, _Snow_. I’m trying to be romantic.”

He raises a doubtful eyebrow at me, “I dunno, seems a little creepy if you ask me.”

“You’re the worst,” I hiss at him.

I don’t tell him I am secretly thankful for the banter. It is distracting me from the sickening feeling in my stomach. I didn’t think I would be this nervous.

I hold out my hand for him and he laces his fingers in mine. I walk us towards the centre of the field. There is no light pollution out here. I have no idea if this will work; maybe that is why I am nervous. I don’t know what I will do if after all this nothing happens and I am left staring at a disappointed Simon trying to explain how great it was going to be. But, Penny helped me, so it should work. Merlin, it better work.

“Okay, close your eyes.” I tell him. 

“Yeah, not creepy at all.”

“Sod off,” I curse at him.

He grins and closes his eyes. I step in behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I take out my wand and place it into his hand. His fingers curl instinctively around it. He laughs nervously. “This is getting…strange.” It's a fair point. I probably should have told him I was giving him my wand. But, my words are betraying me. They've become unreliable- threatening to spoil the entire thing.

“Just trust me," I tell him.

“I do.”

I smile. “Good. I’m going to call for my magic now.”

“What? Why? What are we doing?” His voice comes out too high, Simon can't stand not knowing what is going to happen. I sigh at him, “Less questions, more trust.” He sighs back and I am certain he is rolling his eyes. I ignore his silent questions and rest my chin on his shoulder. I start to focus on my magic, on the buzz flowing through my limbs.

“Feel it?” I ask him.

“Yes," he breathes softly.

 _Okay. Now or never_. I take a deep breath. “I want you to try casting with my wand.”

“What?” He ask. I knew he would resist. I press my hand tighter into his. “Try it.” He shakes his head. “It won’t work.” I recite the words I rehearsed earlier. "I think it will. Try- for me.”  That gets him.

"All right, what spell? Even though I'm telling you it won't work.”

I don’t answer for a minute. I keep breathing.

“Baz?”

“Sorry.” My throat burns. He goes to turn in my arms. I tighten my grip around him. “No! Stay facing away. I can’t do this if you’re looking at me.” Fuck. I've said too much.

“Do what? Are you okay?” Panic is settling into his voice.

“Yes, love.” I take another deep breath. I ignore the tears stinging my eyes.

“Do you know the song Yellow?” I ask. Even though I know he does. Simon loves Coldplay. “Yeah, I know it." He sounds confused. I don't blame him. I inhale, “Sing it.”

He laughs. “I can’t sing.”

I shrug behind him, “Sure you can.”

Simon leans back against my chest. “Should I be nervous?” He asks. I lower my lips to his ear. “Maybe.” I feel the shiver run through his spine.

“Okay. So you just want me to hold your wand and start singing Yellow?”

"Precisely," I tell him.

I feel him nod his head. “Don’t let go.” He whispers so quietly I hardly hear it.

“I won’t.”

I never would. I press a kiss to the back of his neck and he takes a deep breath.

**SIMON**

His wand feels heavy in my hand- filled with his magic, his family history. It's his. In every sense of the word, and it shouldn't work for me. Yet, somehow my fingers know what to do. I know how to hold it, how to call for his magic.

I take a deep breath, **“Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, and everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow.”** My voice cracks and I pause, an embarrassed flush spreading on my cheeks. Baz wraps his arms tighter around me. I feel his magic start to pull through me, I feel it unsettling the air around us. A gentle vibration fills my body.

He starts to sing softly behind me. **“Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones, turn into something beautiful. Do you know? You know I love you so. You know I love you so.”** I stay perfectly still, letting his words settle around me, letting the magic tug at my muscles like a thread.

Baz nudges at my neck. “You have to keep going,” he whispers.

I take another deep breath. **“Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones, turn into something beautiful. Do you know, for you I'd bleed myself dry. For you I'd bleed myself dry.”** I pray I'm not missing any lyrics. I close my eyes and let memory take over. Hearing the sweet melody as I sing. The one I've listened to a thousand times before. I give into faith. I trust myself to not make a mistake. When I start the next part Baz joins with me. **“It's true, Look how they shine for you. Look how they shine for you."** Our voices melt, making a sound more lovely than I thought possible. 

When we stop singing nothing happens. A heavy silence falls between us. I have a feeling this isn't what he wanted to happen. He tenses behind me. This was important for him.

“Baz," I say gently.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he hisses.

I am about to ask him what was supposed to happen when I feel it. I feel everything collide. The world. The stars. Our bodies. I close my eyes and let everything I have release into the air around us. I can feel magic running through my body as Baz wraps his arms tighter around me. I smell smoke and fire. Something crackles and the air around us charges with electricity. It feels like we are in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Baz?” He's not saying anything and I start to panic. What the fuck is happening.

His voice comes back urgent, "Repeat the last line again, but don't sing it- just speak with magic.” I don't argue. The static charge in the air tells me we are casting something, that I need to say it again to complete it. I keep my eyes closed and concentrate. It has been so long since I’ve actually tried this. Even now- even with my own magic- I've been afraid to try.

 **“Look how they shine for you,"** I say as clearly as I can. Casting a song takes energy and control. Something I would have easily messed up before. However, when I say the words they come out perfectly, exactly as they should. I feel the magic heavy on my tongue, the words dripping into the world.

I start to cry, pathetic and loud sobs. Because it feels so bloody fantastic to finally do this right. “Baz… _your_ magic," I sob. He laughs gently. “No, love. _Our_ magic.” I turn in his arms to look at him. He’s looking at me with his beautiful grey eyes like I am everything.

“What just happened?” I ask.  He grins and looks up to the sky. “We’re stars now.” I follow his gaze. I'm not an astronomer. I've been rubbish at most things academic my entire life. But, I look up to see two bright stars, closer to us than any of the others. They're new, they must be. In fact, I'm sure of it. I would bet everything. I know. Something deep inside me is pulling, because I _know_.

“Did we?” I whisper.

“Yes, love," Baz responds.

 _Fuck_. The entire world falls away. I hear our breathing in the cold air and my whole body starts to shake. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. We’re so much brighter than everything. I drop his wand and find his hand. I squeeze tightly. “I love you," I whisper. He leans forward and places a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, still tilted to the sky.

He moves away and shifts his position. I don't look at what he is doing. I keep staring at our stars. At us.

“How did this work. I don’t get it. How did you do this?” I ask him.

My voice is filled with wonder.

**BAZ**

I get down on one knee. He’s still looking up at the sky, his beautiful curls falling backwards. “You’re amazing," he whispers upwards into the night. He hasn’t notice yet. I try to stop myself from shaking. I am not sure I will be able to say anything. I had a whole speech ready.

_Simon, it's because of you I can finally say I'm someone my mother would be proud of. I know she would love you. You see things, and people, in a way no one else does. You tell the stories no one ever bothers with- you tell the best ones. And I want you to be my story, desperately, because there is no one else like you, Simon Snow. You’ve never let vampirism define me, even when you thought I was plotting. And I needed that. So much. I thought a single terrible thing defined my existence. But, you’ve given me hope, and life, when I thought I didn’t have anything but death. You've given me a story. You've given me something worth living, something worth telling. And I’m eternally grateful for you. I'm grateful that you let me be in this story- your story. I'm grateful, and I love you. I would be honoured if you let me love you every single day for the rest of our lives, if you let me make Simon and Baz into a story. Because I promise it will be your best one yet. I promise to always be more for you, every day I will give you more than the last, I will love you more than the last. Because it is what you deserve. I'll be the story you deserve, I promise._

But my throat is already closing, and I am not sure I will even be able to ask _the_ question. I pull gently on his hand. “Baz...," he starts.

_This is it._

**SIMON**

When I look back to earth he is on one knee, his face wet with tears. He’s never looked lovelier. He doesn’t have to ask. I tackle him to the ground and crash my lips against his. We’re crying and laughing together. He doesn’t have to ask and I don’t have to answer.

We’re stars now.

**BAZ**

My mother hung the moon.

Penny stopped time.

Simon and I made ourselves stars.

Penny will argue her proposal is the best. “ _Basil_ , I literally stopped time.”

Impressive, sure. Lasting, no.

Time started again.

Simon and I, this, us. We’re permanent. You can’t look into the night sky and not see us shining there. This is our story, our proof, our existence, our infinity.

I think on all counts I’ve won.

 

 


End file.
